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"That doesn't make sense. I told him it was Jules's idea to go to that bar. He looked it up online before his flight landed and insisted we check it out."
Xavier glanced at me sharply before turning his attention back to the road. "Wait, you know that guy?"
"Yeah, Jules. He's my assistant. He flew in from New York today to surprise me. He didn't tell me he was coming until he was already on the plane. I drove to Casper to pick him up, but he insisted we go out and have some fun."
I didn't add that the reason Jules had come to Wyoming in the first place was because of how worried he'd been about me. He and I had talked several times throughout the past week, and while I’d tried to put on a brave face, it clearly hadn’t worked. Going to the bar hadn’t been at the top of my to-do list, but admittedly, it had been nice to get away from Eden and Black Hills Ranch for a while. I'd been able to just lose myself on the dance floor with no worries about someone seeing me. In New York, I hadn’t spent too much time in gay bars beyond what it had taken to pick a guy up, or rather, let myself get picked up. I'd always been too worried that I’d somehow run into someone who knew my father. Occasionally, Jules and I had ventured to other cities where I'd been able to let loose a bit more, but those trips had been few and far between.
"You kissed him," Xavier blurted.
"What?" I asked in surprise. "No I didn't!"
"I saw you on the dance floor. He leaned up. He had his arms around you—"
The idea that Xavier thought I’d kissed another man was freaking me out, even though it shouldn't have. I was free to be with whoever I wanted. But I was quick to say, "We were just dancing. At one point he leaned up to whisper something in my ear, but Xavier, I didn't kiss him. You have to believe me."
Xavier looked at me again, then he reached for my hand across the seat. "I do, baby. I absolutely do. I'm sorry. There were people in the way and I saw him lean into you and I just thought… I'm sorry, Brooks."
I gave his injured hand a very light squeeze, but only on the fingertips so I wouldn't inadvertently hurt him. The bleeding had finally stopped, and I'd been able to wrap his hand with a bandage from the first aid kit Xavier kept in his truck.
I'd intended to wait to have the discussion about what he'd been doing at that bar until we got home, but there was no way I could go another two hours without knowing. When he’d begged me not to let Jules touch me… it’d done something to me that I was afraid to hold on to if it wasn't real. It’d sounded so genuine. Like he’d really been hurting at the thought of me being with someone else.
A guy didn't do that with someone who'd only been a casual hookup, right?
"Why did you come to Casper?" I asked. The question might as well have been a bomb going off in the truck. It was strangely silent for the longest time afterward. Xavier released my hand and put his back on the steering wheel. I missed the contact, but I knew it was probably for the best. I needed to keep my wits about me. I needed to figure out what his words, whatever he had to say to me, really meant. I wanted to believe he hadn’t come after me just so he could have sex with me again, but honestly, what did I really know? I'd never been in this position before. No guy had ever come looking for a second round with me before.
And he wasn’t just some guy.
I didn't think Xavier was going to answer me, he was silent for so long. But then he began to tap a finger on the steering wheel. His anxiety almost had me withdrawing the question. But that was what had gotten us into this trouble in the first place. I hadn't spoken up for myself when I should have. I needed to do it now, before I got any deeper with this man.
"You're mine," was all he said. I thought that was it until he added, "I don't mean that in a caveman kind of way, Brooks. You're just… you're mine." He sounded confused and surprised. Inside, my belly was doing crazy flip-flops of joy. Right behind them was the knowledge that even if what he was saying was real, it didn't really change things. Even if we could get beyond the trivial things like the fact that I lived in New York and he lived here, there was no getting past the reality that he'd tried to kill my father. He’d burned down our barn. My family hated him, and his family hated me.
