Page 41 of Riding the Line (Willow Ridge #2)

Cherry

‘Okay, I wasn’t sure what you needed so I got one of everything and I also ordered pizza,’ Duke explains as he bustles into his bedroom after coming back from the grocery store. Under each arm is a brown paper bag, filled to the brim.

I’m curled up in the foetal position in his bed, but just about manage to lift my head to watch as he drops the bags on the bed, one of them toppling over so that God knows how many different boxes of tampons and sanitary towels tumble out, along with several bars of chocolate.

Even though I feel about as strong as an overcooked piece of spaghetti – the cramps that unexpectedly started this morning having sucked all my energy away – I manage to wriggle up until I’m leaning on my elbows, giving me a better look.

It also lets me admire him, standing at the end of the bed, the late morning sunlight accentuating his edges with a golden glow – the portrait of a saviour.

But despite the way the sunshine also emphasises how delicious he looks in his tight white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, I can’t help but wince at the sympathy in his gaze.

I’m momentarily transported back to that day on his office floor, humiliated to my core.

My period coming a few days earlier has really put a dampener on the whole sexy running around in secret thing we had going on.

And made the lacy underwear I packed to wear for our day off together completely obsolete.

The whole plan of let’s stay in bed together all day has taken an unfortunate turn.

As well as postponing the opportunity to finally get to sleep with Duke, which I’m certain was what a day in bed translated to.

Not that I’m desperate or anything … but I have wanted this for years, so cut me some slack.

Still, sex isn’t exactly at the top of my priorities when I feel like a sweaty potato.

I croak out, ‘I thought you were only getting me something for the pain. You didn’t have to get all of this …

Though, the pizza I very much appreciate.

’ I could’ve sorted the rest out once I was dosed up – it’s not like I haven’t been dealing with this for years, and nor does he need this burden on him either.

It’s mine to carry. Mine to deal with.

‘Ham and pineapple, obviously.’ Duke offers me a gentle smile and shrugs before packing the boxes back into the bag.

‘Besides, I was worried you might have felt embarrassed about asking me to get this stuff – which you don’t need to be.

I’m a grown man, I can handle a period. And Jessie at the grocery store didn’t bat an eyelid because I buy these for the restrooms at the bar anyway.

’ He laughs, then draws his features together, his movements halting for a second.

‘And, um … well, whatever you don’t need I could – maybe I could keep here for the future. ’

The unexpected suggestion has me lifting myself up higher on my elbows to stare at Duke with widening eyes, my heart suddenly fluttering – even more than my emerging fever was causing.

The last couple of weeks have been – well, honestly, I don’t think there’s enough words to do the dream that is being with Duke Bennett justice.

I’ve had the privilege of experiencing even the deepest corners of his softer side, as well as the hard, rough edges that bring more passion into my life than I thought fathomable.

The only thing that hovers silently between us is that word – future .

I’ve got just under four weeks left before I’m supposed to go back to college, and I’m not ready to let this go.

We might have spent the best part of the summer together so far, but that whole time I was teetering on the edge of my feelings, and I’ve only had a couple of weeks to experience the joy of letting myself fall.

Floating might be a better way to describe how it feels, actually.

All I know is that I don’t want it to stop.

I want to bask in it without anyone trying to stop me for once. I want to relish the rush of ecstasy each time I’m secretly the subject of his smile.

But asking Duke for a future isn’t just asking for him to manage a long distance relationship with me – it’s also asking him to put his friendship on the line with Wyatt. And if the years of him holding back from me proves anything, it’s that that isn’t going to be an easy step for him to take.

Yet what he just said—

A torturously sharp cramp slices through my lower abdomen. I groan and scrunch my face up, trying my best to ride out the pain.

Jesus Christ, I hate being a woman. Don’t we deal with enough already?

I don’t think Duke realises what he’s getting into with my never-ending menstrual cycle of agony. Surely he can’t want this.

‘Shit, hold on, let me get you some water.’ Duke drops the bag back on the bed and dashes out the room.

With what seems like superhuman speed, he returns, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, and handing me a glass of water and the painkillers just in time for my long-ass cramp to end. ‘Here, take these.’

I pull myself up to a seated position with the little strength I have and obey, taking the glass with shaky hands and popping two painkillers into my mouth.

The whole time Duke strokes my hair, fingers slipping through the strands.

I sigh back into the pillows, resting my head against his shoulder.

He shifts so he can put his arm around me, tucking me in closer to his solid chest, letting his warmth cradle me.

‘That looked nasty. You know,’ Duke starts, using his free hand to rub my leg slowly. ‘I heard that orgasms are a great way to relieve cramps too …’

I let out a breathy laugh. ‘Believe me, you do not want to touch me right now, Duke.’

He angles his head down at me, brows knitted together. ‘Why not?’

I scoff, rolling my eyes, but already there’s a sting at the back of them.

I have to look away to blink it away, silently cursing my goddamn hormones for letting my insecurities get to me so quickly.

‘Because I’m a sweaty, bloated mess. I feel, and probably look, disgusting right now.

’ Not to mention it’s goddamn embarrassing that even if I did want to do anything sexual with Duke, I probably don’t have the energy even to muster up a moan.

Duke shakes his head, a frown marring his face. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

‘No …’

‘Cherry, you’re beautiful. All the time.’

Shutting my eyes tightly, I slide back down in the bed, hiding myself further under the sheets. ‘You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better. I’m used to feeling this way.’

But there’s an unexpected adamance in his voice as he says, ‘But you shouldn’t have to feel that way.’ Hardness takes over his features, sharpening their edges, treading dangerously close to the ferocity in his expression I witnessed that time when he rescued me from the diner.

Then Duke’s jumping to his feet and storming out the bedroom.

Clattering and scraping sounds from the other room as I lie in bed, waiting.

I wonder if for a second maybe I’ve just really annoyed him with all my whining and he’s not coming back.

But then he’s marching into the bedroom again, a canvas tucked under one arm, and a small box with paintbrushes sticking out of it under the other.

He deposits everything he’s gathered onto his desk, jogging back out only to return with another glass of water.

The grocery bags are moved to the floor, and Duke swivels his desk chair around, before he approaches the bed again.

‘May I?’ he asks, beginning to drag the sheets away from my body once I nod, revealing the T-shirt of his I’m wearing, which has bunched up around my waist, and my massive panties that say Sunday on them, even though it’s Wednesday.

Duke chuckles to himself when he spots them and I just about muster up the energy to grin back.

‘What are you doing?’ I enquire, my smile faltering at the way Duke’s admiring my body, something like wonder shining in his eyes as I lay there on my side. It’s so at odds to the thoughts in my mind.

His eyes flick back up to me, keeping hold of my gaze as he lowers himself into his desk chair and picks up the canvas and a pencil.

‘I can’t understand how you could possibly think you’re not beautiful right now, because you are quite literally the most exquisite thing I have ever seen in my life.

Even the finest painting in the world wouldn’t come close to rivalling your beauty, Cherry.

In fact—’ Duke crosses one of his legs over the other, giving himself somewhere to rest his canvas ‘—your beauty is so compelling that it’s my favourite thing to paint.

Have I ever told you how many times I’ve painted you since you came back this summer? ’

My lips pop open. ‘You – you painted me?’

‘Like I said – painting’s my favourite kind of therapy.

And I had a lot of feelings about you to work through.

’ He shoots me a grin, and it goes straight to my heart.

Warmth kindles in my chest at how easily these admissions are coming from his lips – at how lucky I am to be the one to witness such from the man who rarely gives anything away.

‘Are you comfortable? I’m gonna need you to stay like that for a while. ’

Nodding, completely at a loss for words for what is happening right now, I snuggle further into the mattress and pillows, watching Duke’s deft hands get to work on the canvas.

All those times I found one of his napkin sketches of me in the bar, I wished I could truly be his muse, not just something to draw to pass the time.

If only I’d known the true reverence behind each of those pen strokes, the sheer power that comes from being marvelled at by Duke as the subject of his art.