Page 15 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

ELEVEN

MATEO

“You look funny in the small chair.” Dale hiccups, her flushed face turned up at the ceiling.

I don’t even know how she’s looking at me from that angle.

I stretch my cramped legs a little, hating how truly small the chair is for my giant frame, and that I got drunk enough I now find myself trying to sleep in it. “Exactly.”

“Are you talking to me or yourself over there?” I grumble, trying to resituate, again . I didn’t mean to get drunk—I don’t like the loss of control, especially around Dale. She already consumes every thought I have these days, and even sober I can barely keep my hands to myself.

But seeing her drunk and carefree, dancing around the living room earlier, had been too much. If I didn’t get drunk, I might have kissed her. Right there, in front of every person who knows us— knows we’re only friends.

Now that I’m drunk, the world tilting slightly above me, I realize just how stupid that had been. If I thought I wanted to kiss her before, it doesn’t even hold a candle to the desire burning through my veins now.

She rolls her head, her black hair unbound, spilling over the edge of the soft couch cushions, some pieces covering bits of her face.

My fingers twitch as I fight the urge to brush them out of view.

She stares at me for several moments, her eyes glossy and distant, before she snorts and rolls her face away again. “Nope, no way Dale.”

So, herself then. What’s she thinking and why won’t she share it with me?

“Care to share with the class?” I shift again, gripping my jeans where they pinch my hips and push my underwear tighter around my cock. I don’t realize she’s looking at me again until I hear her teeth audibly click shut and see her head shake ‘no’ vigorously out of the corner of my eye.

In the darkness, where I know she can’t see me, I don’t bother fighting off a smirk. “I’ll wait, Ms. Mendes.”

She bolts up, and then pinches her eyes closed. “I’m going to be sick.” I quickly reach for the waist basket in between us and try to hand it to her but she waves me off, scowling. “Don’t come any closer with that spicy cologne of yours. I can’t handle it right now.”

I slowly lean back, and try to nonchalantly sniff my shirt. I’ve always liked the scent. Now I’m wondering if it’s been repulsive this whole time.

“Does it stink?” I decide it’s better to ask than stress about it for the next several decades.

“What? No. It smells like Christmas.” I wait, watching Dale suck in ragged breaths before she slowly lowers herself back onto the couch cushions, careful to not look at me. It’s clear she doesn’t plan to elaborate.

“Is that what’s been bugging you all night?” The truth is, her standoffish demeanor has done more than chafe, it’s burned, and I’m finally drunk enough, shrouded in shadows, that I plan to face it.

Is it a bad idea? Maybe. But I don’t want to tiptoe around her anymore.

She sighs so heavily I imagine all the oxygen’s pushed from every cell in her lung. And then she gingerly rolls over—facing away from me. “No.” It’s quiet, but I hear it all the same.

“What is it then? Is it truly that I ruined your morning with… Jared ?” His name tastes like rotten meat in my mouth, almost so vile I can barely spit it out.

“No,” she grinds out, her back stiffening. The action causes her shirt to ride up enough for that annoying strip of skin to appear again between her shirt and jeans. It’s maddening, and it takes all my focus to not simply stare at it.

“Tell me, isn’t that what friends are for?” I hate that word to describe us, especially when Dale’s the one person I want to trust completely. But I know she doesn’t feel the same, so “friend” is safe, “friend” is consistent and steady. And for now, that’ll have to do.

“Really?” Her voice is bitter, and I genuinely don’t know what I’ve done to make her so hostile. Still, I press on, because as much as I don’t want her upset at me, I must know her secrets.

“We can make a game out of it, if you’d rather. What did we used to do? Truth or dare?” She rolls over at that, her face littered with the tell-tale signs of well-disguised rage. She’s pissed, but I know she refuses to be afraid around me either. So even though she doesn’t want to, she’ll do this.

I should feel bad. But I only feel victorious, and that doesn’t feel bad at all.

“You’re stupid,” she snaps, and then sets her hands under her head, propping it up slightly. “And just for making me do this, I’m not going to swap you the couch for the chair like I planned.”

“Good, I wouldn’t have taken the couch from you anyways.”

She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, “Always the gentleman. Are you sure you’re not too proper for a game of truth or dare?

What if I dare you to do something super…

ungentlemanly?” The implications run wild in my head, and I don’t know what she might dare me to do.

Fuck impropriety though, I want her to dare me, need her to.

After I’ve made her work for it, of course.

I want to know just how far she’s willing to go.

And what secrets she’s been dancing around all night.

“Truth or dare, Dale?”

She flashes me a savage grin, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of anger and mischief. Gone is the haze of alcohol, replaced with something far more sinister. “Dare.”

She’s such a brat.

She’ll do anything to keep from talking about what’s bugging her. That’s the way she’s always been. I’m going to have to make it hard for her then. What does Dale fear more than feelings?

A wicked grin rips across my face. Being physically vulnerable.

I sit up. “I dare you to take off your top, bra included.” Her eyes widen, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t surprise myself. Not very friendly of me, but a guy will do what he has to.

I’ll win here, but at what cost?

I can see the uncertainty flicker across her face. She’s warring with herself and if the truth she hides is worth this exposure. I’m a dick.

But I’m a dick about to see some boobs, so…

With a snarl, she gingerly sits up, rearranging her legs criss-cross. Her eyes pierce into mine, daring me to look away. She’s going to be disappointed if she thinks I’m afraid of what lies on the other side of this.

For years I saw her as this sacred, untouchable thing—someone I wanted in my life, as my friend. Because anything more would have been wrong. I knew wanting her was something I couldn’t want.

Not only has Dale always been the kindest, bravest, smartest person alive, she was the one person who always had my back. She listened to me, the boy who didn’t know where his place in the family empire was, the boy who dreamed about horses and cattle genetics, the boy who wanted to be normal.

But even as I knew I couldn’t want her, I did.

And then she went and grew up—and I fucking missed it.

I missed seeing her become this woman—the one who wears black like every day’s a funeral or a rave, the one who dances and sings without abandon, the one who fights and fucks like her life depends on it.

To everyone else, I know she always portrays herself as happy, easy-going.

But I see her, and beneath that shimmering ray of light, is a dark heart.

One I ache to hold with my own two hands.

I’ve missed so much, and somewhere along the way, I’ve realized I refuse to miss any more. Even if it is just as friends.

With a tortiously slow pull, the deep purple top lifts off her skin, revealing the softest, warm bronze skin, covered in a magical pattern of freckles and moles.

I want to trace them, draw lines between them, feel each one beneath my fingertips.

They’re mesmerizing and beautiful, but the way she shivers, I know she doesn’t feel the same.

I force my eyes back to hers, and even though there’s a wicked grin on her lips, there’s fear in her eyes.

I should tell her it’s okay. A better man would. A gentleman would. But right now, I don’t feel like a gentleman. I feel like a beast, salivating over the meal spreading out in front of him.

“What was the dare, Dale?” My voice is thick with a husk I refuse to acknowledge. We’re just two friends playing a very forward game of truth and dare. I want her to fold so that I can get the truth from her.

I also want to see her tits worse than any moral human should.

“Fine,” she hisses, yanking at the back of her bra and throwing it to the floor in a small tantrum.

I barely notice, because as she tosses it aside, her heavy breasts, full of the same dark freckles, sway and bounce.

The dark nipples, surrounded by large purplish areolas sway, dragging my eyes back and forth.

This was a really stupid fucking idea. A brilliant, bad, pleasing, and painful idea.

I don’t even know what I wanted to ask her anymore.

“Asshole. My turn, truth or dare, Mateo?” She spits my name out, more pissed than I anticipated. But she could be screaming at me and I still wouldn’t be able to look at her face. The dots sprinkling the swells of her breasts dance with each word, swaying with each breath.

Magnets for my desperate gaze.

She crosses her arms over the peaks, and I snap my eyes up, having the good sense to feel a little embarrassed. She’s clearly pissed, but there’s something underneath it, and I so desperately need to know what it is.

Right, truth or dare. “Truth.” I’m lucky to have even enough oxygen for a single syllable—I feel like I could die.

“You would.” She rolls her eyes. I always was truth, willing to share whatever, but unwilling to break the rules the way she was.

Several seconds pass and as bad as I want to, I refuse to drop my eyes from her face. Even when they feel like they’re on fire, I hold them still. She licks her lips, her tongue dragging slowly over her plump bottom lip, leaving it glistening and I nearly groan.

And then she surprises me, maybe even surprises herself, and drops her arms, shifting to extend them behind her, pushing her chest out.