Page 51 of Haunted Spurs

"Ollie, no... God..." Ron drags a hand over his face, closing his eyes for a second, looking like he's suffering through his own personal agony. "You're getting her dirty. Buddy, we need to learn how to behave properly."

"It's fine," I reassure him, reaching down to give the dog a scratch. It's just a little Labrador slobber, after all. Nothing that's going to kill me.

I look back at Ron.

He finally took that cowboy hat off.

It feels weird seeing him like this. I’m not used to it.

His dark hair is slightly wavy. He pushes it back from his forehead, a nervous habit I’m starting to notice.

It looks soft. Really soft.

Without the shadow of the brim cast over his face, his eyes stand out blindingly bright, two shards of clear sky. He is beautiful in a way that almost hurts. Breathtakingly beautiful.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, furrowing my brow slightly.

He stares at me, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you usually aren't..." I wave a finger in the air, gesturing to his rigid posture, his tense shoulders, his total lack of chatter. "Like this. You look nervous."

The corner of his mouth lifts in a tight smile. He pulls one of his funny faces, throwing his hands up in surrender, but his eyes keep shining with that strange, incomprehensible darkness.

"Careful now..." he murmurs, trying to scrape back his usual playful tone. "You have a heart of gold, Dusk. You're throwing me for a loop. I don't know how to act after this discovery."

"Let's not exaggerate," I huff, rolling my eyes.

"Well..." He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looks at me softly. "You love Ollie, and in your own twisted way, you worry about me. At least admit that you're kind... you know, that's not a quality to be underestimated."

I pull the robe even tighter around myself, lifting my chin, but I can't hold back the hint of a pleased smile.

"I've been called far worse things, Willers."

16

No Erections and No Cuddling

Ron

"No hugging. No accidentally tangled legs. And absolutely no accidental grinding with awkward middle-of-the-night erections."

I lean against the bathroom doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. I pretend to weigh her non-negotiable terms with the utmost seriousness, only to let a lazy, brazen smirk spread across my lips.

"Hmm..." I murmur, dropping my voice, "I actually think you might enjoy that last clause. Truth be told, you might even find yourself begging for more."

Selene twists her face into a grimace so theatrical and horrified that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.

At the end of a long, exhausting, highly irrational forty-minute argument, we'd "decided" that sharing the massive king-size mattress was the most logical choice. Or rather, Selene forced me to agree to share the bed with her, threatening to sleep on the floor herself rather than let me spend the night crammed and curled up on the window seat.

Just as I suspected... she's got a total softie hidden deep down inside.

"And no cuddling if you happen to have a nightmare," she adds, aggressively fluffing her pillows.

Yeah. Definitely a softie.

Not that I didn't want to share a bed with her, obviously. I'd be out of my fucking mind not to. But I suggested the window seat for one very simple reason: I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. And, above all, I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I desperately wanted to avoid testing my already fragile self-control.

"Hey, I can be a perfect gentleman," I declare.