TWENTY-ONE.
Tobias
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Do you regret it?
I pull up to the ranch and ease my truck into the driveway in front of Ever’s place, surprised to see her and Marissa out in the lawn, surrounded by what looks like every piece of furniture the house ever owned.
Chairs, a dresser, a small side table, even an old rocking chair—they’re scattered across the lawn like someone decided to stage an impromptu yard sale.
I kill the engine and sit there for a second, watching them lean in close, whispering and giggling as they glance my way.
But my eyes keep sliding straight to Ever. I can’t help it.
Last night keeps replaying in my head. I almost don’t believe it happened—the way her voice cracked and softened on the phone, the things she said, the desperate little sounds she made when she finally let go.
I came so fast it was embarrassing, triggered by nothing more than her breathy confessions and the image of her touching herself while she told me exactly what she wanted.
I know nothing will happen while Marissa’s here.
I know I should keep my distance, play it cool, act like nothing’s changed.
But damn, I want her. I can barely sit still thinking about her—imagining the way she might look with her legs spread, hand between her thighs, moaning to the sound of my voice guiding her.
My dick is already straining against my jeans.
I need to get a grip. This is going to be trouble if I don’t.
I step out of the truck, shut the door firmly behind me, and shove my hands into my pockets to adjust myself as casually as possible while I walk over.
I wonder if she told Marissa what happened.
I wouldn’t be surprised, considering she’s been telling her everything about me since day one.
But another part hopes she’s kept it to herself. That it’s still just ours.
“Morning, ladies,” I say, letting my gaze sweep over the chaos of furniture before landing back on them. “What time did you guys get in last night?”
Marissa wipes the back of her hand across her forehead and gives me a lazy grin. “I don’t even know, to be honest. I passed out on the couch the second we walked through the door.”
“You have a good time?” I ask, trying to catch Ever’s eye, but she keeps flicking her gaze away fast, like she’s afraid of letting it linger on me too long.
“I did,” Marissa says, laughing softly. “I’m honestly impressed by the selection of good-looking country boys around here. I might have to start visiting more often—find myself a husband while I’m at it.”
I nod slowly, but my attention drifts down Ever’s arms to her hands, the way her fingers rest lightly on the edge of an old dresser.
“Are you feeling okay today?” Marissa’s voice pulls me back.
“Why?” I ask, too quickly. I shift my weight to angle my body so nothing’s too obvious.
“It’s just weird,” she says, tilting her head with a curious look. “You haven’t said anything annoying yet. Very out of character.”
She glances at Ever, who’s suddenly very focused on the dresser in front of her, cheeks flushing pink. Marissa’s eyebrows lift. “What is this? What’s happening?”
I clear my throat. “I’m just trying to figure out if I should be concerned the two of you are doing manual labor this early on a Saturday morning.”
Ever lets out a quiet chuckle and leans back, resting her hands on her thighs. Something in me eases. She hasn’t told Marissa about last night. And that makes me feel like it actually meant something to her too.
“Marissa said I should try to spruce the place up a bit,” Ever explains, gesturing at the furniture.
“I’m actually surprised the house has lasted in the state it’s in,” I admit honestly. When she first showed up here, I expected her to haul everything to the curb without a second thought.
“Yeah,” she says softly, her gaze drifting over the scattered pieces. “I still can’t seem to get rid of anything.”
The way she looks at the furniture—like she’s seeing memories instead of just old wood and chipped paint—makes something ache in my chest. Maybe I should have asked if she ever wanted to talk about it more, be there for her when she has no one else.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask. “You’re cleaning them up?”
“Sanding and painting,” she says, nodding toward the pile of supplies nearby. That’s going to take forever with this many pieces.
“We have an electric sander. It’ll be a hell of a lot faster than doing it by hand.” Both of them lean back and stare like I’ve just suggested something revolutionary.
“Well, go get it!” Marissa says, her voice bright despite the faint glaze of hangover in her eyes. “You’ve just been standing there watching us do this by hand? What’re you thinking?”
“I gotta make sure it’s still running.”
She groans dramatically. “If it’s not, you better still come back and help us. We can use the muscle.” I take my time scanning the pieces they’ve dragged out, my eyes narrowing as I take in how many there are.
“Did you pull all these out by yourself?” I turn the question on Ever. I don’t care that she’s strong enough to do it alone. The thought of her straining, lifting something too heavy, getting hurt—makes me feel irrationally guilty. I hate that she didn’t call me.
“Don’t look so disappointed, Mr. Macho Man,” Marissa teases, smirking.
I feel Ever’s gaze slide over me, traveling up and down my frame. When I flick a side-eye her way, she raises an eyebrow, challenging. Then her eyes drop to my lips. Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“I’m gonna go make my rounds,” I say, forcing the words out. “I’ll be back with the sander in a bit.” Marissa sighs like I’ve personally offended her. “Do not move anything else in or out until I get back.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she drawls, tired and teasing.
I glance at Ever as I step away. She’s breathing just as unevenly as I am, body frozen in place while she watches me go. I give her a quick wink before turning and head back to the truck.
I sit behind the wheel for a second, watching them through the windshield. They lean in close again, talking easily, laughing softly. I’m waiting for some sign that Ever’s about to spill what happened last night, but their conversation seems to stay light
I press my palm against the insistent bulge in my jeans, throbbing harder now just from that one look she gave me.
I know she needed this time with Marissa, it’s obvious how much she must be missing this friendship.
But god, I really wish Marissa wasn’t here.
I just have to survive the weekend—keep my hands to myself, keep my head straight—and then she’s mine.
When I make it back to the house, sander in hand, I’m surprised to find Ever alone. She’s painting the entry table a soft sage green, brush moving in careful strokes. It took longer than I wanted—rounding the property, testing the sander, coaxing it back to life—but I wasn’t coming back without it.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She lowers the brush and wipes her hands on her shorts. “Does it work?”
“It does,” I tell her. I set the sander on one of the dressers and take in what they’ve managed while I was gone. Marissa’s small dresser is half-painted, Ever’s table is nearly finished.
“She give up on it?”
“She had to take a nap,” Ever says with a short scoff. I step around and pick up the brush from the tray, and pick up right where Marissa left off. “You don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.
“I want to,” I tell her.
Her features soften as she looks at me, something tender passing through her eyes. I hold her gaze as long as she’ll let me, until she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and turns back to her own piece.
“I’m sure once they’re all done, it’ll feel more new,” I say, keeping my tone light. She nods slowly, but the quiet between us feels heavier than it should.
I don’t know how to navigate this—how to act normal when every time I look at her, I’m replaying her voice in my ear, the way she breathed my name like she was trying to decide whether to stop herself.
I finish the last strokes and move around to the other side.
The longer the silence lingers, the more my mind starts spiraling.
What if the alcohol wore off this morning and she woke up regretting everything?
What if she replayed it and decided it was a mistake?
I’ve always respected the line she’s drawn—knowing she’s technically my boss, knowing crossing it could complicate everything—but last night I couldn’t hold back.
“You seem quiet today,” I say, brushing a few more strokes before glancing up. She doesn’t answer, so I lower my voice. “Do you regret it?”
Her eyes snap to mine, searching my face, lingering on my lips until my pulse kicks hard. “Last night?” she clarifies. I nod slowly.
She turns her shoulders to face me. I let my gaze sweep over her quickly, trying to keep it casual, but when I meet her eyes again they’re burning through me.
“It’s okay if you do,” I tell her, even though the thought makes my chest tighten. Maybe I misread everything. Maybe I pushed too far when she called.
She shakes her head slowly. “I’m just… maybe a little embarrassed, I guess.”
The admission catches me off guard. I set the brush down and lean forward. “Embarrassed because you didn’t want it to happen? Or because you did?”
“I did,” she says softly, and the shallow breath I let out feels like relief flooding through every muscle.
“If you’re thinking I didn’t want it to happen, you have nothing to be worried about,” I tell her. She gives me a shy grin that makes my heart stutter. “If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.”
“Why? I’m the one who called you,” she says, trying to take the blame.
“I don’t think you realize how fast you got me off last night,” I admit, voice low. Her mouth parts, eyes widening, bright and surprised. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about when it comes to me.”
“I don’t regret it,” she says, voice quiet and breathless. She leans toward me. “I just don’t know what to say. Or what to do. Or where to look.”
“I don’t think you realize how bad I want you,” I tell her honestly. Her gaze drops to my mouth again, and I can’t hold back anymore.
I stand quickly and close the space between us.
I lean down and crash my lips into hers.
I slide my arm around her waist and pull her against my body.
Her fingers press over my chest, gripping hard, and after hours of trying to calm myself down this morning, I groan as I harden against her.
I shouldn’t be this sensitive to her touch, but I can’t stop the way my body reacts.
I bite gently at her bottom lip, savoring the soft taste of her mouth, and she smiles into the kiss before nipping me back. I pull away just enough for our foreheads to rest together, breaths mingling, hot and uneven. My fingers trail slowly up her spine, memorizing the curve of her back.
“What are you doing to me, Ever?” I murmur against her lips. “You drive me crazy.”
“This is bad for business,” she says, but there’s no weight behind it anymore. No like there used to be.
“I don’t really care anymore,” I admit.
I catch her chin gently between my fingers, tilt her face up, and kiss her slower. Her hands slide around my hips to my back, pulling me closer.
“Whatever this is,” I tell her, “we’ll figure it out.”
She nods slowly, then presses her whole body against mine, letting me feel the heat of her, the way she fits perfectly. Like this was always meant to be.