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“I get it,” I interrupt, not needing to be mansplained about how a guy’s body works. “Is it weird having this conversation right now?”
“A little,” he says with a grin. “But I’m game if you are.”
I look back out over the water, wondering how much detail I should go into, but a lot of what I’m feeling has to do with what happened between Harley and me.
“He kept his eyes closed the entire time.”
“Probably having to think of baseball stats so he didn’t finish too soon.”
I shake my head. “It was more like he couldn’t stomach looking at me or…”
Boomer doesn’t let the pause hang very long. “Or what, Ali?”
“Like he was thinking of her.” Saying it out loud, my eyes burn with tears When he doesn’t argue my words, they begin to fall because it means he thinks this could be it as well.
“That’s—”
“Painful,” I finish for him. “And it’s not supposed to hurt.”
“But you like him.”
I nod, brushing my fingers under my eyes to collect my tears. “Something like that.”
I may have a wine buzz, but I will not confess how I really feel to anyone. Saying the words will only make the fact that they don’t matter hurt even more.
“He’s a likable guy,” Boomer says.
“He’s so good with Aria.”
“He’s really broody lately.”
“Does it make me a masochist that I kind of like that part of him, too?”
Boomer chuckles. “Not at all. There’s a certain charm to it. Like maybe the battle between drawing out that side of him or pushing until you get the opposite.”
“The opposite?”
“Like what happened between the two of you in the bedroom. I don’t imagine he was very broody then, despite it being bad sex.”
I huff a laugh. “It wasn’t bad sex, but I was just too stuck in my head, worrying about what would happen after to enjoy it.”
He nods in understanding of my explanation. “Maybe that’s the way to go?”
“What’s that?” I ask with a yawn.
“Just have great sex. Get out of your head and enjoy the physical part of what he’s able to give you.”
“Casual sex? No,” I say, rejecting the suggestion immediately.
“Because you… like him.”
“Right. Because I like him,” I confirm. “Maybe I should just go back home.”
“No,” Boomer snaps. “That doesn’t solve anything. Running away… what the hell am I saying? I feel like the biggest hypocrite giving you that suggestion when I ran away years ago and never went back.”
“Could you have changed anything by staying?” I ask.
“Not a chance.”
“Then you didn’t run. You just… left.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he says, his words a soft whisper, easily getting lost on the breeze.
“I won’t,” I promise, more because just the thought of crawling back to my parents’ house makes me sick to my stomach.
“Good,” he says, clasping my hand in his.
I rest my head on his shoulder, basking in the pride that I have for finding one really good friend here. I get the feeling that I’m going to need him more than he’ll ever need me.
Chapter 28
Harley
Mixed signals have never been my thing. Letting Ali walk away earlier and then showing up at the clubhouse in the middle of the night is the definition of mixed feelings.
My only excuse is Aria.
And even that is flimsy at best.
After Mom and Dad called to tell me that she just wouldn’t settle, I rushed to pick her up. I knew what she wanted, but I had no right to take her directly to the clubhouse. I spent two hours trying to get her to calm down, but her agitation just grew until I put her in the vehicle and headed this way.
Granted, she’s sleeping now that the drive over lulled her to sleep, but I imagine she’ll wake up soon, and when that happens, I want her to have exactly what she needs.
I knock lightly on the door to my old room, knowing this is the one Ali should be staying in, but when the knock goes unanswered, I let my gaze fall to the room a few doors down. I have no idea why my mind keeps going to her and Boomer, but I can’t seem to stop it. I haven’t seen any form of flirtatious activity between the two of them, but I can accept that he’d be a better fit for her. He has to be more emotionally available for her than I am.
I knock on her door a little harder, wincing when Aria jerks in my arms from the noise.
I back away a foot, debating on knocking on Boomer’s door. Am I man enough to ask for her help if she’s in there with him?
The bedroom door suddenly opens, a rumpled, sleepy Ali standing there, rubbing one of her eyes with her closed fist.
“Harley?” she asks, confusion clear in her tone.
I used to be a man capable of getting his thoughts out when they’re needed, but the sight of Ali standing there in that fucking devious tank top and the smallest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen leaves me speechless. I’m not even going to mention how insanely inappropriate it is that I’m starting to pop wood while holding my child.
