Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(51)

That makes me laugh.

But the laugh dies on my lips when we turn into the section of booths near the pool table and I’m met with a set of crystal blue eyes I’d know anywhere.

“Oh, thank god!” Willa announces when she sees Rosie and Fuckboy sitting together in their booth. Looking at him reminds me I really need to talk to Cora about how sometimes we just insult people with our eyes rather than our words. Or at least behind their backs. “Some people who aren’t Ford to hang out with.”

My sister turns and sticks her tongue out at me while I just roll my eyes. This is our dynamic. We pretend we can’t stand one another’s company when in reality, we get along well. Since she got married and moved to Chestnut Springs, we do spend less time together. I’m not managing the bar in the city anymore, and she’s not bartending. In fact, she has two kids now, and she’s the one who barely reaches out anymore—even though she makes it sound like I ignore her.

I’m perceptive enough to see that she’s living a life that doesn’t involve talking to me on a daily basis. And it’s a good thing. Her lack of contact means she’s happy. Or at least that’s how I interpret it.

“Hey, guys.” Fuckboy says it good-naturedly enough. A friendly wave in our direction. He seems like a nice enough guy.

And I hate him. I hate every last thing about him.

Cora mumbled something about him looking like a douchey Ken Doll earlier. I couldn’t place what she was talking about then. But now I see it.

He stands up and gestures for Willa to sit on the bench across from him and slides in next to Rosie.

Rosie, who is staring at me.

Rosie, who works for me.

Rosie, who has a boyfriend. One I thought she was on the outs with, but seeing them here, together, makes me realize I was dead fucking wrong. They seem too damn happy to be broken up.

That realization has my heart plummeting hard and fast into my gut. My stomach rolls and I grit my teeth to cover the corresponding nausea.

She might be West’s little sister. She might be my employee. She might be taken.

But none of that stops me from wanting her almost obsessively. Working across from her day in and day out has my brain operating at a fever pitch to keep from crossing any lines where she’s concerned. I’m unaccustomed to not getting what I want.

And I want Rosie Belmont.

It has become downright torturous pretending I don’t.

I cut my gaze away from her and drop onto the bench next to my sister. As usual, she starts talking. Something about her kids, her friends, bull riding, hockey, and calving season.

Honest to god, no one can get a word in edgewise with Willa’s monologuing. Even the server can’t break her flow. I would usually find it annoying, but having to sit across from Rosie and Ryan while they’re out together has me stewing like a petulant child.

I’m so jealous it hurts.

Without Willa filling all the space at the table, I’d say something I regret. Ryan, annoyingly, is a great conversationalist and asks engaging questions to keep the chatter going.

I try not to stare at Rosie. And I fail.

Her finger slides up and down the exterior of the pint glass. Condensation drips down in the movement’s wake. Her nails are hot pink. The same color she recently painted Cora’s.

When I lift my eyes, I realize she’s caught me staring. But it doesn’t stop me. Now she’s doing it too. We watch each other carefully for a beat. Then two.

Her lips part on a sharp gasp.

I try not to imagine her with the guy beside her. His hands on her. His lips on hers. I hate the flash of that image so much that my brain swaps those hands out for mine. On her waist. Tracing the column of her spine through the silky shirt she’s still wearing. Fisting her hair. Giving it a tug like I have before.

But this time I don’t let go. I tilt her head and drop my mouth to her neck. She moans in my ear. Wraps her legs around my waist.

A sharp kick to my shin from under the table startles me. And I find Rosie giving me a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing kind of glare.

I know that vision in my head can’t be me. But it doesn’t stop me from wishing it were. I adjust myself in my pants and go back to focusing on polite conversation, though the ideas running through my head are anything but polite.

“Tell me about your job,” Willa says to Ryan.

He comes back with something about oil and gas and pipelines and finishes with, “But, ya know, I’m really just getting started with the company. Still working my way up.”

That foray into the dark and forgotten recesses of my mind has me feeling more agitated than I already was.

I clear my throat. “I suppose that explains why it’s been so hard for you to get away and see Rosalie.”

Rosie’s eyes look like they might roll right out of their sockets, but Ryan gives me a confused quirk of his head before saying, “Yeah. Totally.”

“Do they not give you vacation days at your job?”

From the corner of my eye, I glimpse my sister watching the exchange, subtly leaning forward.

Ryan rubs at the back of his neck. “I mean they do. I was just saving them for something?—”

I cut him off with a patronizing smile. “More important?”

He turns a pink hue, going bashful. “I mean, I don’t know if I’d put it that way.”

He doesn’t seem all bad. I should back off and give the guy a break. But I don’t. I smirk and give him my best asshole glare. “Really? I would.”