I swallow. “Great. Wonderful. I love my trailer.”
“Pretty hot these days.”
Again, his breath is a cool breeze.
“Sure is.”
“Still holding out on my AC offer?” He quirks a brow and mirrors my crossed arm position. And he oozes … promise.
I don’t know how else to put it. He’s not even touching me, and in this moment, I know exactly what he’s promising.
Touch. Pleasure. Experience.
He said he wouldn’t have sex with me, but what about everything else? It seems improbable. Looking at him, he’s like a big, cocky Adonis.
It seems like a bad idea.
But he’s also your fiancé. You trust him. He’s so damn good to you.
I’m ovulating. That’s the only reason my brain is rationalizing this to me.
I let my gaze slide down his thick body and land on the crotch of his shorts. They’re fitted … ish.
Maybe that’s why I can see a bulge so clearly. The really big bulge.
It’s just the clothes. Not a real boner.
That would be absurd.
“Please let me know what I owe you for the set of tires.”
He ignores me. “Just you alone, up sweating all night. I can imagine it.”
“I’m climatized,” I squeak, actually spinning and rolling myself against the hood of my truck to escape him.
“Bullshit.” He chuckles, watching me flee.
“Love the heat,” I toss over my shoulder, dreading how hot my trailer will be when I open that door. I’m exhausted from poor sleep and easily agitated from being so hot for so many days.
“Why are you running from me?” he calls, and I can detect the smug note in his voice. He knows what he does to me. How could he not? I showed him my hard nipples the other day. What am I supposed to do now? Deny it?
“You scared, sugar?”
Dick.
“Have fun doing more extensive video research.”
Fucking dick.
“Might do some of my own tonight too.”
I trip. My flip-flop jams into the grass, and my cheeks flare as I finally reach for the door handle, fiddling with the keys.
“Back door’s open if you need some AC! Or live inspiration!”
I throw myself into the most unbearable heat I can imagine.
But somehow, even the unbearable heat is more bearable than having to face Beau after that toe-curling invite.
16
Bailey
Beau: Back door is open, sugar.
I regret running away. I hate being so stubborn.
If I were smarter than I am stubborn, I’d be in Beau’s blissfully cool house, sleeping like a baby. Instead, I’m in the Boiler. I can’t sleep, I’m restless, and I hate my life. My skin is damp and clammy, and my internal temperature gauge is totally shot. I’m not sure I’ll ever be cool again.
Sure, we get hot spells on the prairies during the summer. But this? This is next-level.
“Fuck it!” Even though I’m beyond tired and barely want to move, I flip myself out of bed and put on the tiniest pieces of clothing I own, planning to go for a swim. Again.
Agitation lines my every movement as I step barefoot down the narrow hallway of my trailer.
Living in a trailer might make me sound like trash, but the fact of the matter is I take a lot of pride in this trailer. I’ve lovingly cut and glued black-and-white checkerboard linoleum to the floor and repainted all the cabinets, even sewn my window coverings to match.
It’s mine, and I made it into one of those that belongs on Pinterest. I’ll never get rid of it.
One day, I’ll have a cute house and I’ll still spend weekends and vacations traveling in this thing. Maybe I’ll even be able to afford an exterior paint job and air conditioning for it in the future.
As it stands, for the few days of truly sweltering heat we get, I can’t justify it.
I shove the door open and let my eyes flutter shut, waiting for a gust of cooler air. But it never comes. That fresh mountain air I know and love is staying up between the peaks, letting us all suffer down here on the prairies with oppressive nights.
“Uhhh,” I moan, but it borders on a cry as I flop down on the spot, feet propped on the metal step of my trailer.
I’m so miserable I could cry.
I sit with my head in my hands, and I think.
I trust Beau, and I know he won’t hurt me. He likes to joke around—that’s just how he is—and I don’t feel threatened by him at all.
So why am I so averse to going into his house?
Because you know you’ll never want to leave.
My brain is a smug little bitch, throwing that in my face.