Chapter 11
Adrienne
“Don’t do that,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Make it easy to pretend.”
He should step away. He doesn’t. The brim of his hat shadows his eyes. My pulse gallops. I reach up, curl a fist in his T-shirt, and kiss him again.
He catches me like he was ready. The kiss starts soft, then he answers the way he always does when I stop being careful: deeper, hungrier, like he’s no longer able to hold back.
I break just enough to breathe. “Why’d you ask me that?” My mouth skims his, the words ghosting his lips. “Back there—what do you want this to be? Why ask me that now?”
He doesn’t give me the space I’m pretending to want. He palms my hip, tugging me flush. “Because,” he says against my mouth, voice rough, “I can’t stop thinking about the sounds you made when I was inside you. The way your pussy clenched around my cock.”
The barn tilts. Heat floods me so fast I forget my name for a second.
His thumb presses into my hip. He kisses down my throat, finding that place that makes my knees weak, and I hate how easy it is to melt for him.
Because I know what he’s doing, he’s answering without answering. Deflecting with sex.
He walks me backward until my shoulders kiss the plank wall. His knee is between my thighs, pressing against me, driving me wild.
“Mm?” He’s already there with his mouth, the scrape of stubble chasing his kiss. “Gonna let me distract you, Barbie?”
“I need a shower,” I manage, though my fingers are busy betraying me, sliding under the hem of his shirt to find skin.
He laughs low, lips at my throat, the sound a sin I want to commit twice. “Then I’ll take you inside and clean you up myself.”
Fuck me, that’s what I want. His hands are on my waist. My back against tile. It short-circuits something in me, and the frustration that’s been riding under the wanting flares back to life. I plant my palms on his chest and push.
He blinks, breath unsteady. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Nothing. I can’t tell him the truth, that I want all those things I said earlier with him, because there’s only one answer he’d give me if I said that. I’m not that guy, Adrienne, and you know that.
“Nothing. It’s late,” I say, aiming for breezy. “I’ve got an eight a.m. with New York.”
He looks at me like he can see right through the lie. “Stay.”
It lands dead center in my chest. One word. I slip sideways under his arm, laughing lightly like I’m not shaking apart inside. “Can’t.”
“Adrienne.”
“Don’t go serious on me now,” I say, reaching for the brushes to hang them back where they belong, because if my hands are busy, maybe my heart will calm down. “You hate it when I’m anxious, and if I don’t get to prep for my call tomorrow, I’ll be all kinds of anxious all over your house.”
His mouth tilts, not amused. “I hate it when you lie to me.”
I pretend I didn’t hear that and aim for flirtatious instead, the safe lane we always return to. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I toss over my shoulder. “Or maybe delayed gratification. I’ll see you this weekend at the garage.”
He catches my wrist before I can step past. Not hard. Just enough to make me feel caged without being trapped. “Adrienne?”
I could say it. I could be brave and tell him the truth: that I don’t want this to be a game anymore, that I’m tired of being a safe detour on the way to the next disaster, his or mine.
But that’s not what Scotty is offering, never has been.
That’s what that tone is about when he says my name. It’s a warning in just a single word.
Don’t look at me like that, I’m not your happily ever after.
Instead, I slide free, lift my chin, and keep us both in a place we know how to survive. “I want a hot shower, six hours of sleep, and for you to admit I can out-rope you if you ever man up and take the bet.”
His smile is slow and unwilling, but it’s there. “You missed by an inch, sweetheart. An inch.”
“Night, Scotty.”
“Night, Barbie.”
I step outside and slowly make my way toward my car. Behind me, I hear his boots scuff, then stop. He doesn’t follow this time.
I look back over my shoulder, into the dark mouth of the barn. I can’t see him, but I can feel him. And I know if I take two steps in that direction, I’ll be back against the wall with his mouth on mine and. Instead, I take the safe bet and head home, the truth deferred another night.
For the last several days, I have been MIA from everyone. A “major deal” I’m closing for Slade was taking up all my time… is what I’ve been telling everyone, but the truth is, I needed a minute to get my ass above water after my late night at Scotty’s.
Brooklyn knocks once, then pushes my office door open without waiting for an answer.
“Hey,” she says, stepping inside with a coffee in one hand. “You said you wanted to talk to me? What’s up?”
I blink out of the spreadsheet I’ve been pretending to read for fifteen minutes. “Right. Yeah. Come in before I forget what actual human interaction feels like.”
She drops into the chair across from my desk, crossing one long leg over the other. “You look tense. Contract drama, still or Scotty drama?” She wriggles her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“Wow. Straight to the throat today, huh?”
“Call it experience.” She takes a sip, watching me over the rim. “So?”
I sigh and shut my laptop. “You were right.”
Her brows lift. “About?”
“Scotty,” I say matter-of-factly. “You and Amelia made some really good points, so after our last talk, I decided to really consider everything. You were right. I’m keeping it fun.”
Brooklyn’s mouth curves in that sure-you-are way that only a woman who’s been through this knows. “Uh-huh. Just fun.”
“Yes.” I lean back, lacing my fingers behind my head. “He knows what I want in a man and in a relationship. I made it clear to him on two separate occasions, giving him the chance to tell me that he’s that man. He’s never once said he wants the same thing. I’m not going to torture myself over it.”
She hums, skeptical. “And that’s working for you?”
I shrug, staring at the glass wall where the brewery tanks gleam in the afternoon light. “It’s better than pretending he’s someone he’s not. We’re both adults. We’re just…enjoying whatever this is until it stops being enjoyable.”
Brooklyn snorts. “You say that like you didn’t practically float into the office the other day after you saw him.”
“That was caffeine.”
“That was a post-sex glow, babe.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Even so, that doesn’t mean I can’t be glowing from sex with him without it being more than that. Orgasms are healthy.”
“Whatever you say, Adrienne. Honestly, though, I’ll support you, we all will. If you want a sexy fling with Scotty, go for it. ” She tips her head. “But you already know this, so what’s the real reason you wanted to see me?”
I hesitate, then smile. “Fine, you got me. After some much-needed self-reflection and handling this fling like an adult, I need a night out. Us girls. No men, no shop talk, no one asking me for legal clauses or relationship advice I’m not qualified to give.”
“I am absolutely down. Tyler owes me a mom night anyway; he went out with the boys the other night.”
“Good. I’ll text everyone, see what night works.”
“Make it Saturday,” she says immediately. “We have a kid thing with Amelia and Dolly on Friday.”
“Saturday it is.”
Brooklyn stands, smoothing her blazer. “Perfect. I’ll find something I can still fit into after twins. And you find a dress that could make a man reconsider his life choices.”
I snort. “You’re assuming I want to make anyone reconsider anything.”
“You do, trust me. A fling with Scotty doesn’t last longer than an appetizer, so you need to start looking for your main course,” She winks, heading for the door. “Text the group. I’ll get the sitter.”
After she leaves, I grab my phone and open our group chat.
Me: Girl’s night. Fort Collins. Saturday. Drinks, dancing, debauchery. Who’s in?
Replies start lighting up my screen almost instantly.
Brooklyn: OBVIOUSLY.
Amelia: Please. If I don’t have a kid-free night soon, I might cry.
Juniper: I’m driving. Nobody argues.
I dance in my chair with excitement. I haven’t gone out and just let my hair down in a minute without the thought of a man at the end of the night.
Me: Done. Saturday it is.
Then I pause. Saturday night means Sunday morning, 8 a.m. Mustang rebuild with Scotty. I chew my lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I almost make a comment about needing to be home at a halfway decent hour, so I don’t show up hungover tomorrow, but then I decide against it.
Fuck it.
I drop my phone back into my purse. Maybe I don’t have everything figured out with Scotty. But I can have one damn night with my girls before I figure that mess out, some shots, a lot of laughter, and zero overthinking.
Saturday night sneaks up on me faster. There’s a pile of unselected dresses and next to it, the shoes I discarded in a tangled pile.
Dolly’s perched on my bed with a glass of wine, watching me panic. “You realize we’re going to a bar in Fort Collins, right?”
I glare at her over my shoulder. “I need options.”
“You need to post pictures in that outfit because wow.”
“Is it too much, though?” I ask, turning back to the mirror. The dress is short. The neckline dips just enough to be dangerous, the kind of thing that walks the line between sexy and slutty. “I just wanted to feel good tonight.”
“You look amazing,” she says, pushing off the bed to stand beside me. “You’ve been drowning in work and Scotty drama for weeks. You deserve to feel hot.”
“I’m not drowning in Scotty drama. There is no Scotty drama. There’s just Scotty, my friend that I fucked.”
“Adrienne.” She gives me the look. “You’ve been orbiting each other like two idiots in a slow-motion collision. If that’s not drama, I don’t know what is.”
“Maybe it’s just gravity,” I mutter, reaching for my lip gloss. “That’s probably Brook.” My phone buzzes on the dresser. I grab it automatically, expecting one of the girls, but my stomach flips when I see the name.