“I think so,” he says with a chuckle.
“To me, marrying you feels like an extension of that decision. But to Ellie and the rest of my family?” It will be running off to Mexico all over again. I can’t say that. Years of therapy have taught me that Grayson had an unfair power dynamic with me, that he groomed me, and my decision to believe him and agree to run off wasn’t my fault. Not really. I have to believe that, especially when I preach it to young victims all the time.
My family has never blamed me, but they also will never forget the terror of not being able to find me, and that will color their views of me for the rest of my life.
My throat thickens. “I have to do this,” I whisper. “I have to make them see that I would never do that again.”
A large, warm hand comes down gently on my shoulder. “Wecan do this,” he says softly. And then, after a long pause, “It’s just a bed.”
I laugh, but it comes out as a snort thanks to my near tears. “It’s a really big bed,” I say. He drops his hand, and I stand up and turn back to face him. “We can stay on our own sides.”
“Can I apply for a slightly bigger side?” he asks. He gestures to his tall, muscled body and gives me a pleading face. His lips twitch upward, and I see that he’s teasing to lighten the mood.
So I don’t ogle the large biceps defined by his long-sleeve Outlaws T-shirt and his broad chest. Instead, I fold my arms and give him an imperious look. “I need my space too.”
Jordan arches a brow, likely at the fact that I’m only 5’4”, at least a foot shorter than him.
“I like to sprawl,” I insist.
He folds his arms too. “Same,” he says dryly. But we can’t stay serious. Pretty soon we’re both grinning. “You want to change first?” he asks, gesturing to the door to the ensuite bathroom.
I am eager to get out of the clothes I’ve been traveling in all day and switch them for a pair of cozy sweats. It’s colder in Colorado than in Houston, especially at night.
“Yeah, thanks.” I want to go to Jordan so I can hug him and thank him for his thoughtfulness. Not just for letting me use the bathroom first, but for how understanding he’s been of my situation from the moment I told him. But I’m the one who created the “no touching in private” rule, and it’s unfair of me to break it any time I want to because I like the feel of his arms around me, cradling me to him like I’m a doll. I can’t like that. It will only lead to trouble, even if Jordan is a good guy. I’ll never be able to trust him fully, and he deserves so much more than that.
I dig around in my suitcase for my sweats and hoodie, trying not to imagine what it would be like to ask Jordan for one of his sweatshirts. How great it would smell. Then I close myself up in the bathroom for several minutes. I lean against the door and take a deep breath.
Acting like a couple all day, every day, is going to be a test of my resistance to this amazing man. Already part of my brain is insisting that heisgood and I can trust him with my full heart.
“I’m an adult,” I whisper to myself. “I can sleep in a bed with my platonic husband and be just fine.” I stand up and put my hands on my hips for good measure, nodding to myself in the mirror.
You’ve got this, Libby Bennet. Like you always do.
CHAPTER 19
JORDAN
I’m never going to fall asleep.
The room is pitch black around me, and Libby is breathing deeply on the other side of the bed. Itisa big bed, but I am also a big man. She’s not as far away from me as I need her to be. I can smell the lemon scent of her shampoo lingering in the air. I know how easy it would be to reach across the bed and run my fingers along the soft strands of her braid. How easy it would be to scoop an arm around her and pull her close.
I growl as quietly as possible. We have meetings in the morning with the White Wolves administration, and I have to be firing on all cylinders. Libbyneedsme to be. Making decisions and understanding things that will affect the team for years to come should not be made on zero sleep.
She lets out a soft, contented sigh in her sleep, and every inch of me tenses. I force myself to relax. Maybe if I put my headphones in and listen to some soft music or something, I can drown out the sound of the woman sleeping next to me. Maybe then I could forget that she’s only a couple feet away from me and every nerve in my body is begging me to pull her into my arms so I can get some relief from this constant ache for her.
Yeah. Fat chance.
I’ll try warm milk. It’s always worked for me in the past, and since I’m not doing anything by lying here, thinking about how I want things to be real between me and Libby, I might as well go downstairs and clear my head.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to rock it. Baylee’s always telling me that I shift any piece of furniture I’m on with every movement I make because of my weight. Which I always follow up with, “Is that a fat joke?” And my sister rolls her eyes because she knows I’m only flaunting how not-fat I am.
Libby’s breathing doesn’t change, so I stand carefully, quietly make my way across the room, and then ease open the door. This house seems new, not creaky like my house in Houston, so thankfully the door opens and closes silently.
It’s past midnight, so I’m surprised to see a light glowing from the direction of the kitchen when I make my way downstairs. Maybe they keep a light on for the little girls or something. But when I round the corner from the bottom of the stairs and step into the kitchen, I see Will Pemberton sitting at the table, a tablet in hand and a coffee cup sitting next to him.
He looks up, lowering the glasses he was using to read on the tablet. He’s already intimidating with his height and the fact that he could probably still rock somebody on a football field, but the way he folds up his glasses adds to the serious vibe he’s giving off.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks in a gruff tone.
