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“Call us if you need us,” Wyatt said to Ben before turning to me. He hugged me last and whispered in my ear. “Read the damn letter, Moira. He won’t leave until you do.”
“I will. I just need a little longer.” They didn’t understand what they were asking me to do. Or maybe they did, and it was their oaths that kept them going, kept them pushing. Because they were asking me to pull back the curtain on my past, on how devastated I was when I discovered how unfaithful Evan had been. They didn’t know the tears I had shed over Evan. Nor just how much he’d broken my heart.
And that even after I turned down his proposal, I hadn’t been able to tell him no for many years. Until it hurt more to see him and be with him than not.
It had been that advent, the realization that every time he blew through my door it would be another knife in my chest, that made me decide on a fresh start outside Virginia. I wanted to be by the water and drove south with all my belongings in a moving van and truck hitched to the back until I spotted this house and knew it was where I wanted to live.
It had been the right choice for me, my current stalker situation notwithstanding.
I stood beside Ben as they started their Harleys. Tater was inside at the window, barking like a madman at being left out of the goodbye. But then, one after another, they pulled away, tossing us a wave before they sped down the street.
“I’ll get started on the weeding.” Ben headed toward the garage where I had all my gardening tools stored.
“Ben.”
“Yeah?” He glanced my way.
“I’m not trying to be difficult over reading Evan’s letter. I need you to know that—I just need a little more time.”
His eyes looked like calm waters as he nodded. “Understood.”
And then he strode toward the open garage door without another word. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at the situation. Because while I had loved Evan, that love had turned sour years ago.
And I was crushing hardcore on his best friend.
15
The rest of the morning went smoothly. Ben took care of the weeding and cleaning up after Tater in the yard, a task I was glad to hand off to someone else for a week. Being a homeowner wasn’t without its difficulties or never-ending chores. Inside, I cleaned up after all my houseguests and did a few loads of laundry.
Our day was very domesticated, almost like we were an actual couple instead of two hostages tossed together by circumstances.
Ben finished his tasks first. He came inside to move his things into one of the guest rooms. He left me breathless, even dirty and sweaty. God, he fired my internal combustion engines to meltdown levels. I wasn’t like this with men. They never distracted me. Ever.
Why would I be? I could take them or leave them. Most of the time, I avoided getting involved beyond the club. Because they weren’t worth the headache.
Besides, men never stuck by me. I realized my profession made me something of a social pariah. A woman they loved to look at and screw if they got the chance, but never one they wanted to introduce to their parents. Instead, I wound up their dirty little secret. I loathed being treated that way, so I avoided it as much as possible.
The thing was, I even understood it. Being a stripper and owning a strip club wasn’t something one wanted to put in the yearly family Christmas letter. Can you imagine?
Moira added two new strippers at Madame X’s and plans to expand the food menu.
Literally no one wanted to add that to their family tree. And I didn’t blame them, but it still stung. No matter how much I tried pretending it didn’t.
I headed upstairs at two to shower and get ready for the club. Tater was sprawled in the kitchen, chasing rabbits in his dreams. At the top of the stairs, I turned toward my room just as Ben emerged from one of the bathrooms—in nothing but a towel.
Holy god!
Water droplets glistened on his tan skin. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, making the hard angles appear blunt and even more masculine.
But it was the man’s chest that garnered the bulk of my attention. Lust unfurled and planted a damn flag. This went beyond fascination because I had entered obsession territory. I’d already thought he packed a punch, but that was with his clothes on. Without them, he was a veritable god sent down to tempt mortal women. I spied the Navy SEAL trident tattoo on his left bicep. And god, but he was fucking ripped. His muscles had muscles. I didn’t spy an ounce of fat on the man. If the government wanted to make a fortune and pay off our debt, when Navy SEALs were getting ready to retire, they should do a yearly calendar of shirtless SEALs, just like the firefighters do. I knew so many women who would be like, “Take my money!” And I was one of them.
He quirked a brow at our Mexican standoff. “Shower’s free.”
“There’s leftovers in the fridge from dinner last night if you’re hungry.” I resumed the trek toward my bedroom.
“Appreciate it.”
But he didn’t move out of my way as I approached. It was like he was daring me, seeing if I’d balk and scurry away. Issuing a challenge to see if I’d take the bait. Didn’t he realize yet that I never backed down?
