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“You weren’t though, right?” My heart aches for the thought of this kind man as a kid being bullied. Of anyone being bullied.
“No. Thanks to some friends of mine, no one bothered or messed with me.”
“Which friends were those?”
He smiles and says, “The Trevors. Graham and Cade. I’m still friends with Graham, but well, Cade and I… we just drifted apart.”
“Graham is the one who has the girlfriend now.”
He confirms my statement with another nod. “Yep, Quinn. She’s nice. You’ll like her.”
I smile and try to hide my grin by turning back to the action. I love that he says that like I’ll be meeting her soon, which hopefully means I’ll be meeting the entire group soon. I can tell how much they mean to Warren and I want to be a part of that.
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
Warren looks at me and smiles. “We’ll make sure you do. Soon.”
There’s a promise that gives me more hope than I know what to do with.
The rodeo ends suddenly in a flourish, fireworks shoot into the sky, some loud music blares through the speakers and Warren wraps his arms around me as we kind of sway/dance to the music.
A feeling I’ve grown to associate with him blossoms again in the pit of my stomach and I grip him closer to me, I lean my head back to catch his eye and when I do, he leans down and takes my lips with his.
We keep it carefully PG, given the families and children around us, but it doesn’t stop the desire from swirling, from unfurling a need I’ve never felt.
“Will you come home with me tonight?” I don’t give myself time to rethink the question, to worry over it or fret that he’ll turn me down.
And I don’t need to do any of that, because Warren gives me his charming, handsome smile and nods his head.
I allow him to grip my fingers and pull me through the crowd, guiding us to his car, and guiding us to my home.
It’s not a drunken stumble as we push through my door, and unlike all of my other friends or family that visit, Warren gives little notice to the things that surround us as we enter my apartment.
No. His focus is all on me.
Rather than feeling embarrassed or worried, I relish it. I let him look.
I let him watch as I toss my bag on the table by the door and kick off my boots. His eyes track every movement and I twist, trying my best to put a seductive roll in my hips.
Something I’ve never in my life done before.
I feel him come up behind me, like there’s an energy in the room that tethers us to each other. His hands halt my movements, holding my hips still and pulling my body tightly to his.
His hand sweeps my hair off of my neck and instead of feeling the cool air, I feel his lips tracing an invisible line, making me shiver. “What is it you want, Janie?”
That. Just that. I want him to hold me like I’m his. I want him to call me a nickname no one else does. I want him to want me, always.
But, feeling a bit foolish, I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I turn so I can see into his eyes, needing that connection. He must sense that because he allows the movement easily but keeps me close.
“What do you want?” his rough voice asks again. “Tell me. Tell me and I’ll do everything I can to give it to you.”
“You don’t have to give me anything,” I reply, moving my hands up his arms and around his shoulders. “But you. I want you.”
“You have me.” He takes my mouth with his own, giving me chaste, pressing kisses and gently coaxing my lips open. It doesn’t take much persuasion.
He may have hid—slightly—that he was the admirer. Knowing Warren now though, I know his intent wasn’t to hurt me, but to show me his heart without getting it stomped on. I’m not even sure if he knows that’s why he started sending the notes.
We move like we’ve done this a thousand times, fumbling down the hallway while trying to keep our lips connected.
