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He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s fine. I just hate that things are weird between us now. I miss hanging out with you. And my brother’s married to your best friend. We’re going to run into each other.”
She focused on cleaning the bar top, using a little too much vigor to wipe up things. Out, damn spot. “Doesn’t have to be weird. We can be friends.”
“Hard to be friends with someone you want in your bed.”
She looked up, and something tightened low in her gut when she saw the invitation in his eyes.
God, it would be so easy to just give in and let him have the control. Sex with him in whatever form would probably be amazing. But she knew what she wanted, had finally figured out what flipped her switches, and she was tired of doing things halfway. “You know the price of admission for my bed, Gib. You’re not willing to pay it.”
Gibson leaned forward, bracing his arms on the bar and getting way too close for her to concentrate on anything but his dark eyelashes and full bottom lip. He kept his voice low enough for only her to hear. “We don’t have to be in any roles at all. We could just do things the old-fashioned way.”
She closed her eyes, a hint of his cologne hitting her and bringing her back to those sessions in the training room at The Ranch. Never before had she felt such an utter need to make a man hers like she had when she and Gibson would get into a scene. Something about him stirred those dark desires she’d only toyed with in fantasies before then. But the sessions had been her own kind of torture because they’d kept it so business-like. He’d never taken off anything more than his shirt. There’d been no sex. He’d guided her from the bottom as her trainer and never gave over real control. Not until that last session when she’d somehow broken through that outside layer had she gotten a glimpse of what things could be like if they ever did those things for real, without restrictions.
And she knew without a doubt that if she agreed to an old-fashioned hookup with Gibson, physically she’d probably be over the moon, but deep down she’d be left unsatisfied afterward because she’d gotten a glimpse of what she’d be missing. She was done compromising. In her endless search to find Mr. Right, she’d spent too many years of her life dating guys who she’d jumped through hoops to please. No more. Even if Gibson was stupid beautiful and looking at her like he’d light her world on fire.
She poured a Crown and water and slid it his way. “Gib, let’s not pretend that either of us would be satisfied with old-fashioned. You don’t pay that exorbitant fee at The Ranch for nothing.”
His frown deepened and he straightened, taking the drink in his hand. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Sam.”
“Why?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. But she’d seen how he’d reacted after that flogging. He’d been on the verge of subspace. Submission did something for him. She hadn’t imagined that.
His gaze slid away. “Because it’s not who I want to be.”
She pressed her lips together, considering him for a long moment. She knew some submissive guys struggled with their desires. Many thought big, strong alpha men weren’t supposed to be anything but dominant. But Gibson was so confident in his everyday life, she couldn’t imagine he gave a shit what societal norms or traditional gender roles called for. But for some reason, this was a no-go for him.
She needed to accept that. She reached out and put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Hey, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Friends who are not weird with each other.”
His lips tilted up at the corner, but his eyes didn’t hold the same humor. “Yeah, guess we’ll have to get some practice at that.”
She nodded. “Definitely. We’ll go have lunch or something soon, okay?”
“Sure.” He grabbed for his wallet. “What do I owe you for the drink?”
“It’s on the house for trying to protect me from drunk assholes. Thanks for that, by the way. I would’ve handled it, but seeing his teeth rattle when you shoved him against the bar was pretty entertaining.”
He smirked. “Anytime.”
After one last look, he headed back to his table, and she didn’t talk to him again until he and her friends said good-bye for the night. When he walked out of the bar, all the starch drained out of her. She tried to stay busy, keep her energy up, but as the crowd thinned and the night stretched on, the finality of her and Gibson’s situation weighed on her. When the last customer headed out the door, she sagged back against the counter and closed her eyes, rubbing her brow.
“Everything okay?” Angie asked.
Sam opened her eyes to find her current manager-in-training cleaning a glass and giving her a concerned look. Sam shook her head. “I’m fine. Long night.”
Angie nodded toward the back. “You should get out of here, then. Billy and I can lock up. I’ve got the hang of the closing procedures by now.”
Sam stretched her neck and glanced at the empty bar. Usually she stayed and helped put things back in order, but she’d worked every night this week and the thought of staying any longer suddenly felt like too much. “You sure?”
“Of course. Your vacation can start now. Go. Get some rest.”
Sam smiled. “Why haven’t I made you assistant manager yet?”
Angie grinned. “Because you’re too much of a control freak. But I’ll be more than happy to accept that promotion when you get back.”
Sam pushed off the bar and patted Angie’s shoulder as she passed. “Consider it done. And if anything happens this week, you can call me—”
“I’ll call Marvin,” she said, cutting her off. “You’re on vacation, not on call. Forget about us for a while.”
“You’re a bossy thing.”
