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And the crazy thing is, she thinks I’m the hero here.
I didn’t plan for my life to turn out this way. Even fuck-ups have dreams, though. I saw a future. Boring ass job I’d probably hate, a family with kids who hopefully took the traits of their mother, and a stupid ass dog with some ridiculous name like Spot or Cookie because we let our minions name it. All those options had been taken from me.
In a different life, I might deserve someone like Mindy. But this isn’t a different life. Mindy has a future, and this is who I’ll always be. I may not have been the one driving, but the blood is still on my hands.
I can still hear the devastated cries from his wife and two small children as I sat in the courtroom the day of my trial—a trial Jacie never attended. The only person I heard from was her father attempting to pay me off to stay quiet while telling me I was doing the right thing.
The right thing for who?
She stirs and slides down the couch into my lap, mumbling something that sounds like my name in her sleep. My chest tightens. God, I want nothing more than to carry her upstairs, undress her, and make the sweetest kind of love to her. But I know what happens when I let my guard down, and I can’t allow my emotions to get in the way. I need to stick to the facts. I’m here to do a job. Fantasizing about a future we could have together puts her in danger.
No matter what I want, what I desperately wish I could have, keeping her safe is my number one priority.
And nothing can change that.
Chapter fourteen
Mindy
Five days later…
Whack! Whack! Whack!
“Jesus, Rocky. What’s gotten into youtoday?”
I take another swing at the punching bag. “Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”
“Gee, I don’t know. You’re whacking that thing like you’re trying to murder it.”
If sexual frustration had a face, that’s what I’d be punching. The last five days have been glorious and torturous at the same time. Tate’s been attentive. Funny. Wonderful. He also hasn’t attempted a single thing. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve been close. The press of our thighs when we sit on the couch. Our fingers touching when we went to grab the same egg roll. Little, harmless things that have set my body on fire. I’m not kidding when I say I’m about to burst into flames. “I’m not trying to murder anything.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“I’m not!”
“Jesus. Okay. Maybe boxing was a bad idea.”
I drop my arms. “Fine. I’m sorry. I’m just a little wound up.”
“I can guess why you’d be wound up.” She giggles, picking up the punching mitt. I lift my gloved hand, preparing to whackher. “What? It’s obvious what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Fine. How’s Tate?”
She puts her mitt up just in time for me to rear back and slam into it.Whack! Whack! Whack!“Fine. Why wouldn’t he be—will you stop laughing?”
“I’ll stop laughing when you start being honest and tell me what’s going on. You’ve been snapping at me all week.”
“That’s a lie.” It’s totally not a lie. “Ugh! How am I supposed to be around the man twenty-four-seven when all he does is reek of testosterone and hotness? Or keep my hands to myself when he feeds me, laughs at my jokes, and watches a ridiculous amount of reality TV with me? He’s basically the man of my dreams, and my body has been screaming for me to jump his bones, but nooo, I can’t because he’s on a job!”
I look around, realizing everyone in the studio is staring at us. “Did I say all that out loud?”
She nods. “You practically screamed it.”
“Great. Now everybody knows I’m sex deprived.”
“Maybe you should do something he can’t resist.”
