She sends me another look, but then her eyes soften. “You know, there should be a place where you don’t have to pretend, and it’s not fair I’ve taken that from you. That you can’t just be yourself.”
I grind my teeth. “I don’t pretend.”
“Yes,” she sighs with a sad smile. “I don’t actually think you pretend. I might have phrased that poorly. I meant you need a place where you don’t have to be a hero.”
“I’m not a hero.”
“I think you are,” she contradicts me, and I press my lips tighter. She ruffles my feathers like no one else.
I lean forward on the table, and she mimics my gesture. A playful smile on her face tells me she thinks I’m flirting. And I was going to, until I figured out that it would end up with her on her back and me deep inside her. The sexual energy between us is undeniable, but she’s a guest in my house, and I’d feel like a dick if we went down that path.
“You think you have me all figured out?” I ask, my voice low, a tone I reserve for bad criminals since making sureshedoesn’t wantitis the only way we will make it through the night. “You’re wrong.” I shake my head, continuing without letting her have a chance to speak. “I’m not a hero. I’m the same fuckup as everyone else.” Her playful smile slowly turns into a frown as I keep going, far away from my original plan just to keep her at a safe distance. Now it’s more. Now, she touched something that wasn’t meant to be touched. “And we are not friends, Josie. You don’t know anything about me.”
Her eyes turn dark, and I wince, expecting tears since I went too far. But instead, she surprises me by narrowing her stormy eyes.
“If I recall correctly, I wasn’t signing up to be your friend. I’m sure that list is long enough without me with all those good deeds you’re doing.” She leans even closer, nearly crawling on the table. “And I didn’t ask you to bring me here. In fact,” she pushes back and rises to her feet, “it’s time for me to go. Thank you for your hospitality.”
With that, she rises from the table, and I throw my hand out, grabbing her forearm.
“Stay,” I say gently, but she pulls away from me, so I ask again, even softer this time. “Please, Josie. Stay. I’m really tired, so I didn’t react well.”
She shakes her head. “I really have to go. I think Alicia should be done by now, and she can come and get me. Or maybe Mark.”
Even though he’s in love with someone else, the mention of another man’s name makes my skin crawl. I clench my teeth before I say something I’ll regret and take a deep, calming breath—this woman can rile me up in point two seconds flat.
“Josie, stay,” I start, ashamed of my behavior. “I was out of line. We can just go to our rooms and not see each other till tomorrow morning.”
Her lips form a thin line. She’s pressing them together so hard they turn pale for the lack of blood flowing to them. Her chin lifts in defiance, and I prepare for the storm.
… that never comes. Her shoulder suddenly drops, and she sits back in her seat. Her whole posture is the picture of defeat, and it doesn’t make me feel even slightly good. I won. I should be happy. But I’m not.
“I was wrong too.” Her voice is small, just like her posture. “I never should have assumed things about you and never should have taunted you with it.” She looks up at the ceiling, biting her lower lip.
I give her a half-smile, sincere but still a bit reserved—I don’t want to make any wrong moves with her.
“We’re even then.”
A beautiful smile brightens her face. “I guess we are.”
ChapterTwelve
JOSIE
I lie on the bed, watching the shadows from the window light play on the ceiling. Even his guest bedroom is nice. I mean, the majority of people—at least people I know—use guest bedrooms to store junk. But not Kenneth. The sheets are crisp and clean. The dust is nonexistent. The cream nightstands match the frame, the curtains match the throw blanket on the bed. Everything matches. Almost too perfectly. I can’t help but assess the room with my designer eye—it’s a default setting of sorts and doesn’t turn off even when I want it to.
I’d add splashes of color here and there just to make it a little more like home and a little less like a pristine museum. Maybe I’d put an out-of-place vase on the dresser and a curtain with sewn-in fluffy balls on the windows.
And a comforter. I’d definitely add a comforter. This one is nice, but it’s not mine.
Though I’d give up my comforter willingly if he just told me what kind of piercing he has. I’ll be damned, but proper Sheriff Benson has a very improper pierced cock, and I’ll be damned if it’s not the only thing on my mind. Is it a Prince Albert? I bet it would look good. Does he have a regular metal ring or some fancy jewelry? The possibilities are endless.
I’ve never had a partner with a piercing on his private parts, and just like that, Kenneth Benson became even more desirable and, therefore, less attainable. I can’t start an affair in a place where the sheriff is pretty much Superman without a cape. Though, he might be hiding one somewhere. I don’t know how long I need to stay here and what to do to make this house happen. I can’t afford distractions or attachments. Especially attachments, since I’m not planning on staying, and Kenneth Benson looks just like a man who might change my mind. I didn’t work my ass off for years just to end up back in a small town with zero prospects.
I toss and turn for hours before I’m able to fall asleep, just to be woken a few minutes later by a knock on the door. I think I must be dreaming, so I squeeze my eyes closed, but the steady raps come again. I push up onto my elbows, trying to figure out where the knocking is coming from—someone’s trying to take the front door off its hinges.
I throw the comforter away and peek outside my bedroom door. Not finding Kenneth anywhere, I tippytoe to the entrance door so whoever is there doesn’t know I’m here. Flashes of horror movies blink in front of my eyes as I imagine his wife coming home from a business trip to find me here.
Is he married? I don’t know anything about him. Yes, I’m in a separate bedroom, but with my head full of dirty thoughts about her husband.
