At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(62)

Trembling, I stare at the zipper with the confusion of a toddler who has no idea how this contraption works. Make that a confused ape, based on the awkward way my curled knuckles brush her silky brown hair out of my way.

“Colt…about tonight. I…I’m sorry.” Her shaky voice gives me pause. “In your truck…on your leg…God, that was seriously crossing a line. I can’t believe I did that.”

“What did I tell you at the bar? You shouldn’t give a shit what I think.” The dress unzips a little further, so now I can see she hasn’t been wearing a bra all night. “It’s just me, Whit. You never need to feel that way with me.”

“But—well…I value our friendship.” Her shoulders roll to let the straps fall down her arms.

My breathing stalls at her words. Her creamy, freckled shoulders. The sweep of hair across the nape of her neck. The sight of her bare skin’s a nitrous oxide injection, accelerating my heart rate instantaneously.

“I value our friendship, too.” I dip my head down to push my luck with a kiss to her right shoulder.

“Colt.” The way she giggles my name is my new favorite sound in the world.

“What?” I act innocent, dragging my bottom lip along her trap muscle. “I do value our friendship. More than anything.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me. Whip me.” I kiss her shoulder once more. “Choke me.” And again. “Walk me like a dog.” And again.

She sighs, leaning back into me. “That’s…that’s not what…”

“My body’s been battered and bruised more times than I can count. I’m sure my heart can take whatever you throw at it.”

Pinching the zipper, I tug it down farther, until the only thing holding it up is the tight fabric around her hips and the straps hanging loosely around her elbows. Her hand reflexively shoots up to hold the dress against her chest.

“I don’t want Jonas to get hurt.” She looks at me over her shoulder, eyes shiny and glimmering from unshed tears.

“Me neither,” I say through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t…Even if you and I didn’t work out. I wouldn’t stop being there when he needs me.”

Whit’s thick curtain of hair falls from its perch on her left shoulder when she shakes her head no. “That’s not your responsibility.”

No, it’s not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to be.

“I hate to break it to you…” The zipper hits bottom, and so does my resolve. Slipping under the fabric, I grab her warm body and spin her to face me. I wait until I have those pretty eyes on me before I break the news. “Jonas and I were friends before you came into the picture. He’s my buddy. My boy. That doesn’t stop even if you wake up and decide you’re tired of my dorky T-shirts, or you start thinking my mustache looks more like Hulk Hogan and less like Riley Green.”

I know I said it was chill if she breaks my heart, but I’m standing here with it clocking one hundred miles per hour waiting for confirmation that we can try. If I lose her, I’m abso-fucking-lutely done for.

“I don’t know….” She licks her lips, that crease between her eyebrows deepening.

“We’ll take it slow. Won’t get Jonas involved until you feel ready.”

“I j-just…” She yawns, loud and long. “I can’t think right now.”

“Sorry, I was getting ahead of myself.” With a fragile smile of surrender, I let her slip out of reach. “Get your pajamas on. We’ve got plenty of time to talk about this after some sleep.”

My stare follows her across the lamp-lit room, where her little black dress falls to a puddle on the floor. I choose to train my eyes on that, rather than Whit’s mostly naked body. The way the fabric’s circled, swirling around, looks kind of like a black hole. One time I stayed up until two a.m. on a work night binge-watching space documentaries, and some crazy guy with hair that stood straight up mentioned aliens living in black holes. Anyway, I don’t think I retained anything except that the studio could’ve given the guy a better stylist.

“Hey, so…” Whit catches my attention right before my brain becomes a black hole. She’s wearing a pair of adorable pajama pants covered in dachshunds and an oversized black T-shirt. “Don’t get weird about this, but I bought you a shirt, if you want something to sleep in.”

“Well, I was going to sleep in my underwear, but now I’m curious.” My heart thuds.

“Again…don’t be weird.” She thrusts a balled-up gray shirt toward me.

It’s my new favorite shirt. I don’t even need to unravel it to know. It could be plain gray—though I doubt it is. If she’s gifting me clothes with the same bashful smile and rosy cheeks she has now, Whit could single-handedly convince me to swap out my entire wardrobe.

“Wait.” Okay, no, it actually is my new favorite shirt. “This is incredible.”

“I went to an estate sale a few weeks back. I was going to save it for a gift-giving holiday or special occasion.”

“This is a special occasion. I kissed you so good tonight, you felt the need to give me a gift.” I’m tugging my stupid cat shirt—every shirt is stupid compared to one that says Hootin’ and Hollerin’—over my head, eager to replace it. Within seconds, I’m also pantsless, and I give her a flirty wink.