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I smile in the darkened room. For once, my body allowed me to do what I wanted to do.
What a glorious notion.
The bed shifts as Charlie sits up and tosses the condom in the trash beside the bed. “You okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice makes my chest ache.
I cup his strong jaw. “It was perfect.”
His eyes flick to my hand and the minimalist tattoo on the inside of my ring finger. “What’s this?”
“A heartbeat,” I say, hesitating. “I got it in Charleston. It’s a reminder to live while I can.”
He adjusts us in the sheets before kissing the inside of my finger, where my tattoo lives. “Been everywhere,” he observes.
“I have.” I rest my head on his hard chest. “But this is my most favorite place I’ve been, Charlie.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His handsome face sobers.
“One night, Ruby,” he says on an exhale.
“I know.” I sit up, running my gaze over his bedroom. Suede pillows, terracotta comforter, traditional cattle-branded symbols framed above the bed. There’s a balcony that looks out over the front yard. It’s cozy and rustic and makes me want to stay in his bed. Still, I say, “I should go.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “That’s probably a good idea.”
Charlie’s words sting, but he’s right.
One night.
And now it’s over. No matter how much I wish things could be different, they can’t.
I need to stay away, so no one gets hurt.
He reaches for his jeans. “Walk you out.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Won’t argue about that, Ruby,” he says, giving me a stern look.
Slipping out of bed, I dress quickly. Once I gather my laundry, Charlie walks me back to my cottage.
Just like that, no strings attached.
But I can already hear that greedy little voice in my mind whisperingmore.
Because once with Charlie Montgomery is never enough.
Even the sanctuary of the Bullshit Box and the stack of bills in front of me can’t keep my mind off the one person plaguing me for the last week.
Ruby.
I want her. So fucking bad.
Which pisses me off.
That girl was like a ray of sunlight making me come alive. Her laugh, her sweet kiss, hell, even her adorable ramble of curious questions. If she’s not giving them to me, I don’t want anyone else to have them.
Ever since our night together, when I was the asshole who kicked her out, I’ve thought about her more times than I can count. Which means I’ve stayed away from her. Pure fucking torture. But it’s the smart thing to do.
