We fall asleep with the mattress still on its axis, the two of us exhausted from starting fires and putting them out with our bodies.
Wyatt James sure knows how to give one damn good ride.
Too bad he’s not my boyfriend. Too bad I could never love him.
Too bad love sucks so damn much.
Too bad.
Wyatt
The morning light hits my lids, sawing its way into my skull like a rusted razor. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to get my bearings. A tangle of blonde hair comes into focus as Marley lies cradled in my arms. The bed is still tipped on its side from last night’s romp and stomp. A dopey smile floats to my face as I stare down at her. Marley’s lips turn up at the corners as if she’s having one hell of a dream, and I don’t have the heart to wake her. Instead, I ease my way off the bed and stumble toward the kitchen.
“Shit,” I muse as I survey the damage. The windows stare at me wide like toothless smiles without the curtains protectively layered over them. A trail of soot leads from the fireplace to the front door, and it’s freezing as fuck out here.
In the distance, I spot a few ranch hands milling around the corral. I’m pretty sure not one of them wants to see my bare ass, not this early, not with my dick doing its best to invert from the icy winds. In a panic I shut all the windows, wrapping a blanket around my waist like a kilt. I put together a couple of bowls of cereal and head back to the bedroom before hypothermia sets in.
“Morning,” Marley chirps, wedged between the wall and the mattress. Her sleepy eyed smile gives her that sexy drugged look that my dick seems to approve of.
“Come here, gorgeous.” I lend her a hand and help her upright before pulling the mattress back where it belongs.
“If what happened last night is your MO, I suggest you nail your furniture to the ground—and maybe entertain fire retarding the place.” She winces and mouths, sorry.
“After last night, I might have to.” I pull her down to the mattress with me and sink her over my lap. “You up for breakfast?” I distribute my culinary masterpiece. “Due to inclement weather in the kitchen, Sunday brunch will take another seven days to commence. But if you like marshmallow stars, you’re in luck.”
“Every day, all day.” She dives a heaping spoonful into her mouth, her lips still ruby red. Marley is a natural beauty in the truest sense.
“I’m glad you’re up for cereal. It’s what I eat regularly and often.”
“That’s because you’re a bachelor. I bet on good days your diet consists of beer and beef jerky.”
“It’s beer and donuts, but I’ll give you props for getting close.”
“You really need a woman in your life.” She takes a spoonful and nods as she swallows it down. “I mean in general. Why hasn’t this happened for you?”
“Timing was never right.”
“Well, after those stunts you pulled last night, I’d think the women who’ve had the honor to tilt your mattress would have killed to keep you in their clutches—between their thighs to be specific.” Her lashes hang low a moment as the memory of last night burns her cheeks.
“So I’m a keeper?”
“You can pull your weight. I don’t see why not.” She puts the spoon in her mouth and pulls it out slowly. “I’m not sure there are such things as bedroom talents, but, you, my friend, clearly have them. Have you considered giving lessons? I mean not to guys, but I’m positive women from near and far would generously employ you to teach them a thing or two.”
“No can do. I have my limits. Leasing myself out for cash wouldn’t have exactly made my mother proud.”
She winces. “I bet you’re right. You think she’d want to see you married with two point five kids?” She sets down her bowl, and I do the same.
“More than likely. She was a big believer in marriage—married three times. The first time she was eighteen, right out of high school.” I wrap my arms around Marley as my fingers graze down her back. “That lasted six months. Then she waited a couple years before tying the knot with my father. He was gone all the time, and she started drinking which led her to sobering up then becoming a counselor at the place she met the final train wreck of her life.”
“That’s so sad.” She curls into my chest, and I land a kiss over the top of her head like she was my girlfriend.
Is she my girlfriend? Sounds like verbiage that should have been written into the contract—although the point of that mockery was to send her in the opposite direction, and, yet, here she is, in my bed. Not that I’m complaining.