“Is that right?” he inquired.
“Even with your very well-done performance on multiple occasions, you are exactly what I initially thought you were. You’re so used to women throwing themselves at you, you’ve found no reason to put forward any effort of your own. And why should you? Women like Delilah are a dime a dozen.”
Frustration crawled up my throat at the reality of how much I cared.
“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, his voice defensive. “You’re the one who basically told me you weren’t interested, so how would I know you changed your mind unless you came up to me?”
“What? When did I say that?” I asked.
“A few weeks ago, when we were riding at Rolling Meadows. You told me about the whole wedding thing. I just assumed that was a helluva way of telling me to back off.”
I fast-forwarded through our conversation that day at the farm, coming up empty-handed on how he would’ve ended up with that conclusion, but it didn’t matter. All the courage I’d previously had was gone, reminding me that getting involved with this man would end badly.
I had an opportunity to run, so I took it.
“You’re right,” I confirmed. “Me getting left at the altar nine months ago is exactly the reason this can’t go anywhere.” I lied right through my teeth, because deep down, I’d love to pull this man closer and push my mouth into his, but I was in no shape to play bullshit games, let alone compete with Delilah Boudreau. “So, you want to fuck Delilah, despite her lack of character, that’s your choice. You’re a grown-ass man.” The profanity of my comment caught me off guard; my voice was telling one story, but my body was telling a completely different one.
It was as if there were some gravitational pull urging me closer to him because I kept finding myself leaning in further.
“Does that bother you?” he asked, letting his fingers lightly tip my hat up before his arm fell back to his side.
My eyebrows scrunched and my insides scrambled.
“Me with someone else. Would that make you jealous?” he restated.
“Jealous? Ha.” I swallowed. “Nope. Not even a little.”
His free hand found its way to my thigh, scrunching the chiffon material up and out of the way until the sparks of his fingertips made themselves known. He lightly dragged them up and down, drawing circles on my skin, recruiting an army of chills all over my body.
“Not even a little?” he asked.
I shook my head no, muttering, “Nuh-uh.”
“You’re lying again,” he said, the steady rhythm of his voice filling what little space there was between us before he shifted his mouth closer.
The tickle of his mustache in my ear filled my stomach, whispers dancing from his lips. “And let me tell you something. If I wanted to fuck Delilah, I would’ve already done it. Instead, I spent my night irritatingly aware of your every move. From the second you walked into the bar to the second you walked out.”
My eyes closed without permission, his words nipping the next breath from my chest.
“Scarlett?” A muffled voice called from behind a car window. “I’m here for a Scarlett.”
Both of my hands pushed flat against his chest, unfortunately allowing more space between the two of us.
“That’s me. I’m Scarlett.”
“Stay,” he stated very calmly.
“I can’t.”
I forced my feet to move, stepping away from him, but not before he snagged my wrist with his hand, his grip tight enough to stop me but soft enough to feel careful. He pulled me back around until I faced him.
Little fires danced up my arm, growing hotter with every second he held on.
“Next time you tell me to fuck someone, it better be you.”
“I’m not so sure there’s going to be a next time.”
I ignored every fiber of my body craving him and pulled away before slinking into the back of the Uber.
