20. Cruel Enough
Cruel Enough
I’m not in the car for more than three minutes before my phone rings. I look down at the screen. Ash Cedar.
Stupid soulmate bond.
I click the button on my steering wheel to answer. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on?” Ash’s concerned voice fills the car.
I huff a pained laugh, tears spilling onto my lap. “Just got into it with sister dearest. I’m fine.”
I’m the furthest damn thing from fine.
“Do you want me to come to you?”
I haven’t moved from the driveway, but I said I’d leave for the night and no part of me wants to go back inside. Especially not with Ash in tow.
“I’ll come to you. Text me your address.”
The last thing I want to do tonight is get into it with him. I don’t think I have the emotional capacity to think right now, let alone have this sort of conversation. But I promised I’d talk to him.
And I don’t go back on promises.
“All right, Goldilocks. I’ll have some drinks ready.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
The drive is easy. Driving is relaxing, mechanical, routine in a way that allows me to turn my brain off. I once said that to Hazel and she chewed my ear off for an hour about how I needed to always be aware while driving.
The thought of her brings a fresh wave of pain, slicing through my chest. I went too fucking far tonight. But it was like word-vomit. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop.
It’s probably proof that I’m holding way too much shit in. Instead of addressing my feelings about her leaving, about our distance, I let it build up inside me until something small set me off.
At least she has Noah with her. I’m glad she has someone to comfort her, even if I’m the reason she needs comforting.
I turn on to a secluded drive and am immediately submerged in darkness. It’s a private lane in the middle of nowhere, but that fits Ash. He wouldn’t live in some high-rise or cookie-cutter neighborhood.
He belongs in the woods.
Headlights illuminate the log cabin and it almost startles a laugh out of me. I said he belongs in the woods, but a log cabin is a little on the nose. A giant tree trunk sits to the side with an axe sticking out of it.
Because of course he splits his own wood. No wonder his shoulders are so massive.
And then he’s there, standing in the doorway. He’s in a long-sleeved green Henley, rolled up to his elbows, that matches his eyes and gray sweatpants.
That’s goddamn unfair. He must know that’s an outfit right out of a romance novel. And all I want is to lose myself in the fantasy.
I step out of the car, watching as he leans against his doorframe, arms crossed. Even just being in his presence is a balm on my frayed nerves.
I understand why Hazel wanted Noah close when she and I were fighting. All I feel right now is a physical pull toward Ash. He’s grounding, safe, in a way that I’ve never experienced. Calm in a storm.
How much of that is the soulmate bond, and how much is just Ash? I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to separate the two ideas enough to find out.
“Come here, stubborn woman,” he growls, the words rumbling out of his chest and across the driveway—if you could call it that. It’s really just a gravel trail worn by years of tire marks.
For once, I don’t fight him. In a moment I’m in his arms, burying my head in his chest. Warm fires, evergreen trees, and musk. My safe place.
If my willingness to do what he asks surprises him, he doesn’t let on. Just wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.
I melt into him and the buzzy comfort of our electricity.
“Tonight’s not the night for all we have to talk about. Come inside anyway,” he whispers into my hair, the low tones of his voice speaking to the scared woman inside me. To the little girl who never felt seen. To the young woman who forces it.
I nod, wordlessly thanking him for letting me off the hook. For knowing exactly what it is I need without having to voice it. My hands crawl up his chest and around the back of his neck, playing with the tiny little hairs at the base.
He draws me inside, keeping us connected and closing the door behind us. I refuse to lift my head from his chest as he maneuvers us through his home, but he doesn’t complain.
He plops on the couch, pulling me on top of him.
I lift my eyes and find myself face-to-face with him, knees straddling his thighs and closer than we’ve ever been.
“Hi,” I say softly into the inch of space between us.
He really is a beautiful man. Devastatingly so.
“Hey, Goldilocks. How are you?”
I shrug, little lightning shocks going up and down my back in rhythm with his fingertips. “Rough day.”
His nose nuzzles against mine. “Mm. What can I do for you?”
I have an entire damn list of things he could do for me. To me. It’s not fair to go there without talking about it, and I don’t want to be cruel.
I’ve been cruel enough today.
“Can we drink and not talk about anything serious? And then fall asleep?” I ask, digging my fingers into his shoulders.
His mouth lifts in a smile. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“We’re going to take turns guessing something about the other person, and if you’re wrong then you drink. If you’re right, the other person drinks,” I explain as Ash hands me a glass of wine. I frown at it. “Nothing stronger?”
“Trust me, you’ll be wrong enough that you’ll still get drunk,” he quips, sitting on the other end of the couch from me with his beer.
I huff. “Yeah, but wine-drunk is different. Wine-drunk is sad and headachey and hangover city. Don’t you have vodka or tequila or something?”
“You really think tequila is going to give you a better hangover tomorrow?”
“No, but I’ll be so drunk I won’t care.”
“Luckily for you, I don’t have tequila. Your choices are whisky, beer, and wine.”
“I’m surprised it’s not moonshine.”
“Make your first guess, Goldilocks,” he says instead of continuing the banter. Rude.
Hmm. What do I think I know about this man?
“I’m guessing the last musical artist you listened to wears a lot of flannel.”
“You’re right, actually. It was Hozier. Specifically the song ‘Sunlight.’” He tips the beer bottle back, exposing the long line of his neck as he drinks. Who knew necks could be sexy?
I clear my throat. “Surprisingly good taste. What draws you to him?”
The moment his eyes darken, I regret asking. “The man knows about worshiping a woman. He doesn’t sing about cutesy crushes, he sings about all-encompassing love. The kind of love you drown in. The kind of love that burns you alive.”
I’m speechless. The urge to crawl back into his lap is almost too much, but somehow I resist.
“I guess that your favorite color is dark red. Blood red,” he says, his voice lowered and soft. Enticing.
“Not pink?”
“Not pink. You like pink, don’t get me wrong, and you don’t mind letting other people think it’s pink. But even if it’s not red, it’s not pink.”
Without answering verbally, I sip the wine. It’s sweet, but not ridiculously so. Dark chocolatey and warm in a way that fits this warm home. This warm environment he’s created.
He relaxes back into the corner of the off-white couch with a cocky smile. He’s entirely too proud of himself and it makes me want to beat him.
I play with the rim of my glass. “I guess that you love all animals but are more of a dog person.”
He tips his head. “We already talked about this, Goldilocks.”
“I didn’t agree not to cheat.”
He smiles. “I do prefer dogs, but don’t tell Belle.”
His beer is half-gone already.
I squirm under the pressure of the tension between us. It’s as thick as smog. Heat licks at the base of my spine and I drop my eyes to my half-full glass.
I can’t give in yet.
“I guess you’re smarter than everyone gives you credit for,” he says.
I snap my head up to meet his gaze. “I guess that you’ve spent your entire life being underestimated as the pretty one, when really you don’t fit into any of those neat little boxes people like to put others in.
You are stunningly beautiful, but you’re also quick witted and intelligent.
Competitive. Caring, when you want to be. Stubborn, too.”
My mouth is dry. “How am I supposed to answer that?”
“You’re supposed to drink, Goldilocks. Those are the rules, aren’t they?”
“Only if you guessed right.”
“Exactly. Drink.”
The dominance in his tone should absolutely not cause a burn low in my belly, but I take a deep drink of wine anyway, licking the droplets from my lips.
His hand comes up, rubbing the tip of his thumb against my mouth. I lean into it for a moment—two—and pull back.
I’ve set a boundary for tonight, and I’m determined not to cross it.
“I—” my voice comes out shaky, uncertain. “I guess you own at least ten pairs of jeans.”
He snorts, scratching his chin. “Would you like to go count?”
“In your bedroom?”
His eyebrow cocks in a teasing way. “That’s where the closet is.”
That feels like a danger zone. “You don’t know how many pairs of jeans you own?”
“I haven’t counted lately, no. But I’d be willing to drink if you don’t want to go in there.”
I nod, and he polishes off his beer.
He stands. “More wine?”
I nod again, no words able to escape me as he crosses into the kitchen. At least, I assume it’s the kitchen. The room is walled off and hidden behind a wooden door.
I bet it’s a small kitchen. Something warm and homey, perfect for dinners with his dad and a few friends.
It’s all very Little House on the Prairie meets Lumberjack-core.
The desire to explore without him hovering over me is strong, but I stay glued to the couch regardless. I’m hyper-aware of every action I take and it’s making me anxious.
“My turn, right?” he asks as he steps into the room. Wine and beer in hand.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Don’t sound so excited. It was your idea to play this game.” He tops off my wine glass before setting the bottle on the coffee table.
“Patiently waiting, brute,” I reply. The nickname doesn’t fit him anymore. If I’m honest, it never did. It was just a pathetic attempt to keep him at arm’s length.
He smiles, an honest and pure thing that tugs at my own lips. “I guess you are an absolute horror to play boardgames with.”
“There may have been a few incidents that caused my old friends to decide to not play with me.” I drink. “But I’ll have you know, they were just being sore losers.”
“Of course they were,” he laughs. “I’d play with you any day.”
Oh, I didn’t need the image of us playing together in my head. All the delightful, sinful things we could do together if I would just let him.
“Where did your head go?” he murmurs, scooting toward me.
“None of your business,” I reply. My voice is soft, breathy, and I don’t think I like this game anymore. I don’t like knowing just how carefully he’s been watching me, learning me. Knowing me.
He pays attention to me like no one ever has.
“Unfortunately for you, everything about you is my business. You’re allowed your secrets, your feelings, all the things you want to keep private. But you are my business.”
“You’ve made that pretty clear, considering how well you apparently know me.”
His eyes trail from my legs up to my chest and face. It’s thorough, but not lewd. Appreciative, but not vulgar. “Knowing you is a privilege I plan on earning.”
“Could we—” I swallow around a dry throat. “Could we watch a movie?”
And save me from having to endure the intimacy of this discussion?
He shakes his head, fondness evident in the easy way he smiles. “Go ahead and pick something off Streemz, Goldilocks. I’ll grab some popcorn.”
“Extra butter and salt?”
“Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”