Page 25 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)
TRIPP
It could be worse.
I could have chickened out. I could have failed to get her off or even stayed the night, despite her just wanting to test the waters of a casual hookup.
I’m only freaking the fuck out. My obsessive thoughts after what we just did are the stuff of literal nightmares. I’m already calculating when I can have more intimate—more naked —experiences with Mesa. As soon as possible.
We were effortless. Hot. Attuned to each other like we’d done it a million times before.
I want to do it again.
I want to do it until I die, and even the idea of that doesn’t seem gratifying enough.
My truck door slams hard enough to trigger an earthquake. One hand painfully grips the wheel and the other turns the key to start the engine with more force than necessary.
Once my Bronco roars to life, I tug at my pant leg. The mess underneath is a first. She thinks I didn’t try to get mine. What she doesn’t know is that I already did, and all it took was a taste of her.
“ Shit ,” I mumble while opening the glove box to no paper towels or napkins.
Ignoring the evidence of how much having one short-lived night with her like that affected me, I finally look up and prop my left elbow on the driver’s side window, then lean the side of my head into my hand.
Just like anyone, there’s a side of myself I don’t like. I’d never wholly accepted the darkest parts until I realized that being around Mesa made me more at peace with myself.
Now, I wish I’d never started up a friendship with her in the first place—one where we slowly learned the ins and outs of one another instead of jumping each other’s bones right off the bat and then hoping for the best.
She’s aware of every part of me. That should turn her away. We shouldn’t have a pull this strong.
Staring out the windshield will make the thoughts go away. I’m sure of it.
Except it doesn’t. And less than twenty minutes later, all I’ve done is speed out of Mesa’s driveway and continue to think about having her. All of her.
Even as I finally make it home and storm into my room, she’s in my head.
While I throw my clothes in the washer and take a scalding hot shower, she’s in my head.
She’s everywhere.
I aggressively pull back the covers and slip into my bed. My dick twitches in sad protest.
I wasn’t done. Go back, it says.
I lift the comforter and glare at it. “Shut up. This is your fault.”
And now I’m talking to body parts? I’m a lunatic. A dumb, stupid, every word in the book for a no-good nutjob who blames his dick for the mess his heart is responsible for.
With my phone plugged up on the other side of the room, I try to distract myself the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, my go-to thought topics, like baseball, all remind me of her. The moon has already started its descent when I give up and let my head go where it wants.
I have to slam my eyes shut just thinking about her writhing beneath me. I feel like rolling over and punching the pillow when flashbacks of her kissing me while my hands roam over her body invade my mind.
She was spectacular.
The problem here is me.
My biggest fear is that I crave more closeness with her, which I guess is understandable considering the types of conversations and interactions we’ve had lately.
Sadly, the only way I knew how to get closer to her was by trying to get in her pants under the guise of teaching her how to let someone blow her mind and not care afterward.
Big success that was. Here I am caring. Very fucking much.
What does that say about me? Why couldn’t I have just hugged her and let her vent about the sex stuff instead of throwing my hat in the ring? Continued the way we always had?
Our friendship may have been enough for me before tonight, and I should have let someone else give her what she wants in bed.
But the opportunity to quench both of our thirsts wasn’t just an open door.
It was a shiny golden archway with a massive blinking sign above it that said horny bastards enter here. Selfish. That’s what I am.
Still, I can’t stomach the idea of someone else lying next to her. I can’t even stomach the idea of anyone but me looking at her.
The fallout is on me. I’ll deal with the awkward exchanges that are sure to come. I’ll deal with the terrifying realization that what we had is never going to be enough for me now. I have no choice.
I was always meant to remain unattached. I’m supposed to be the one who wouldn’t dare catch feelings.
So why, when the sun rises, am I chugging a cup of scalding coffee to burn the taste of her from my tongue? I don’t even like coffee. And why, when I stumble through a day’s work, am I fighting for my life against calling her just to hear her voice?
By early evening, I walk into the bunkhouse, scowling at the kitchen full of my friends that I’ve successfully avoided all day until now. Almost twenty-four hours still wasn’t enough for me to stop thinking about her.
“I hate golf,” Gage grumbles.
Warren huffs as I hang my hat by the door and take off my shoes. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Blythe vetoed the Vegas trip.”
“I really don’t give a shit about a bachelor party, guys. I already had a long and wild one—my entire twenties.”
“Get wasted one last time before the death of your dreams. It’s a rite of passage,” Heston chimes in with an uninterested monotone voice.
“Damn. The hell happened to you?” Gage asks me as I push my hands through my disheveled hair and pass by them to pull two bottles of beer from the fridge.
Maybe not the best idea on an empty stomach, but I might as well get started now. I know an incoming night of drinking when I see one. Weekday or not.
“Marriage is not the death of your dreams,” I argue. “Not when you don’t have any dreams to begin with.” I tap my index finger on the side of my head while taking a long swig. “It’s the death of everything else, though,” I make sure to add. “ This , for example.”
I gesture to the three of them sitting at the kitchen island. Their boots in a line by the door. The entire place. Everything we’ve known for the past decade or more.
“Here we go,” Heston sighs.
They stare at me like they’re waiting for me to smile or crack a joke to make them all laugh.
My teeth grind instead, and nothing about my expression says anything but fuck off.
I don’t want to hear shit about Gage getting married or anything that reminds me of what I can’t have.
I damn sure don’t like thinking about how everything and everyone around me insists on changing, either.
I liked the way things were—free and easy. I want it all back.
“You’re a ball of cake and rainbow sprinkles tonight. I take it shit finally hit the fan with Mesa,” Warren says, fixing me with the sharpest look. It’s some sort of big-brother energy, and I don’t like it one bit.
With a long swig, I try to steady the frantic thoughts in my head. I know I’m just overreacting, tired, and fresh out of composure. I need to get over myself. My eyes close as I swallow down my cynicism right along with the beer.
I grab the second bottle, toss the already empty one, and walk away. Still, his voice follows me down the hall.
“Savannah said Mesa was a ray of sunshine when she visited her this afternoon,” Warren blurts out.
My feet stop. The subtle buzz I was working on fizzles out completely.
I turn my head just enough. “She did?”
Warren nods with a smile because I fell right into his enticing trap. “Yep. Savvy told me some things, you know. She said you and Mesa really care about each other.”
Gage leans back in his seat and looks at me. “Now’s the part where you pretend you don’t care but quiz him about how she looked or what she said and if she mentioned you.”
Even Heston waits with a hint of curiosity.
I don’t do that. They know this.
But hell, I want to. I want every detail. Why was Savvy visiting Mesa? Is it because Mesa didn’t want to hang out with me today? And did she mention we kissed and fooled around and now she can’t stop thinking about it?
I’m losing it, and I’m pretty sure all three of my friends can tell.
“What kind of shit is this?” I say, putting up a front. “Y’all look like a circle of gossipy sorority sisters conspiring together. Stop worrying about me. Annoying as fuck.”
I sigh, turning back toward my room. My phone buzzes before I step inside and check the screen. The incoming call from Mesa cuts off before I have the chance to answer. Then four missed call notifications from her pop up.