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“I meant it when I said I wish I could come in,” I say, my voice gruff as I shift our bodies so that Ruby’s backed up against her door.
“Then why don’t you?” she whispers, the moonlight glinting in her eyes, and damn I could drown in those baby blues.
“The real reason?” I ask, and she nods.
I pause, hoping I’m able to pull up the right words to make sure she walks inside tonight knowing she’ll see me tomorrow, knowing I’ll still want her tomorrow.
“I don’t want people to see my truck on the road and talk. I don’t want to hook up with you on a night when we were catcalled on the way out of the bonfire. We don’t have to jump straight into bed, right?”
Ruby nods, her face flushed.
I can tell I’m not convincing her, so I lean in close and press my lips to her forehead, trying to show her the tender affection that feels so new to me.
“Besides,” I add, my voice dipping low, “once we do crawl into bed together, I don’t want to have to leave in the middle of the night. I don’t want to be rushed.”
I take a single finger and trace it down her neck and along her collarbone, feeling Ruby’s body shiver beneath me, watching the goose bumps as they race across her skin.
“I want to take my time with you,” I whisper into her ear.
Ruby takes a deep breath then releases it, long and slow. “Damn,” she says.
I nod, grinning. “Damn is right.”
And then I kiss her again, just to drive the point home.
chapter twelve
Ruby
When I wake up Monday morning, I find a text on my phone from Boyd.
Boyd: My family is going to do a brunch for our family and some neighbors if you want to come. It starts at around 10.
Boyd: I’d love for you to join. If you want to
I smile and stuff my face back into my pillow, enjoying the simplicity of Boyd’s words and the major effect they seem to have on me.
Maybe it’s just because Boyd is a bit older than the guys I normally date, or maybe he’s just a little more of a straightforward person; either way, I love that he doesn’t play games.
When I was in high school, guys seemed to want to bounce from girl to girl, whichever one was going to put out or suck them off or make them feel like a peacock as they strutted through parties or school dances with someone on their arm.
After I graduated, I assumed the world would be different, assumed men would be different, but they just seemed to be the same, only with a little more money and a lot more freedom.
The only guy I ever really found worth my time was Evan, my one long-term relationship and the man who ended up hurting me more than anyone else.
We met through a friend of mine, a girl I’d known since elementary school, at one of the bars I was hopping through on my 21st birthday. He bought me a shot and slipped me his number, telling me he wanted to take me out for brunch the following morning to help me get over my inevitable hangover.
I remember thinking that was the most charming thing I’d ever heard, and I hardly had any drinks that night, not wanting to get messed up only to feel too shitty the following day and be unable to go out with him.
I fell hard for the college man who was so smart and gave me so much attention and made me feel like I was so important to him.
And then, at some point, things changed.
My rambling mouth was no longer cute, but rather an embarrassment or a waste of time, my quirky personality a bore. When Evan started making me feel like I was the one thing I couldn’t bear to be—an inconvenience in his life—I pulled the plug.
Fiona told me it was for the best since I dated him for over a year and he wasn’t able to get me over the tipping point in bed, but I try not to dwell on that part. It doesn’t feel fair to focus on something neither of us could seem to control.
His attitude, though? His slow shift into a man who treated me with disdain instead of adoration?
