Alone and with a big old bed at the ready.
I was ready for every contingency. Clean sheets. Clean kitchen. Clean bathroom. It was a little neater than usual, too, not that I was ever a pig. I’d raised myself for the most part, and it showed. I was a rolling stone, always in motion, on my horse, on my ride. I didn’t cook at home or leave dirty shit all over the place. Still, I’d spiffed it up a bit. I’d even bought some candles. I’d rejected all the smelly paraffin shit and gone for beeswax. It was natural and smelled clean and pure and sweet, just like Melissa. Plus, that’s what Angel had recommended. I was taking advice from the girls a lot these days and grateful for every bit of it.
My body was already hard and ready as I kissed her panties and put them back in my nightstand, all the way in the back where she wouldn’t see them if things progressed that far.
Melissa had felt so fucking good in my arms, it defied all logic. How could anything feel that good? How could one inexperienced girl put all my other conquests to shame? I’d been with at least a hundred women. But with her, it all felt completely different.
This love thing was all so fucking new to me. I knew I had a way with women. I always had. They fell into my lap, sometimes literally. I’d never had to work or even think about what I wanted, or more importantly, what they wanted. It was always pretty obvious that the club girls just wanted to be with a Devil’s Rider and I was just there to get my rocks off. But with Melissa, I actually had to stop and think about what I was doing. I wanted everything to be perfect for her.
Especially her first time, whenever that would be.
Not anytime soon, if you’re smart about it.
I decided to text her. I’d let her be for the most part, with a good morning or goodnight text to make sure she knew I cared. But I couldn’t really say more than that. If she knew I was sleeping with her panties on my pillow or that I’d been up all night fantasizing about what we’d done at the picnic, she might run away.
I couldn’t risk it. So I held back, trying to pace myself.
Hey, picking you up in an hour. Will have a car this time.
That was my subtle reminder to wear a dress. It didn’t matter what she wore, of course. She would look gorgeous in anything. A dress just made it easier for me to get at her goodies.
I stopped by the clubhouse on my way to get her to check in with the guys and set my schedule for the week. I didn’t want to bartend as much anymore. If my evenings were free, I could see Melissa. And it’s not like I needed the money. I’d worked my ass off and saved. I was in good shape to make all kinds of moves.
For the first time in my life, time was more important than money, now that I had someone to spend it with.
Hell, I wanted to spend every fucking waking moment with Melissa. The non-waking ones, too. The image of waking up in bed with her in the morning, all rosy and tousled . . . it sounded fucking amazing. Mind bending. A serious couple goal.
And we were a couple. We had been from the moment I took her hand at the barbecue. She belonged to me now. If she didn’t know it yet, she would soon. I’d make it crystal fucking clear to her the first chance I got.
I slipped into the back to check the schedule. It was still kept on paper on an old clipboard nailed to the wall. I was ready to cross off all my shifts when my phone pinged.
I can't make it tonight, Nick. I'm so sorry.
What. The. Fuck.
I stared at the phone in my hand. My first thought was worry for her. My second thought was that I had blown it. I texted her right back, my mind racing.
Is everything OK?
I waited for her response, my phone clenched in my hand. Nothing came. If there were something bothering her, I was prepared to kill it. It didn't matter what it was. I would handle whatever needed handling. That’s what a man did for his woman. But she had to tell me what it was.
If there were a chance I had blown it by going too fast . . . I didn't really know what the fuck I would do.
I went back inside and asked if I could work a shift. Because if I left now, I knew I'd go over to Honeycutt Stables, march up to the farmhouse, and demand to know what was wrong. Every fiber of my being demanded it. But I knew there was a chance I might make things worse.