Bryant’s laughter—something I’ve never pegged as annoying until this very moment—rings through the hardware store. “I love a woman with a can-do attitude.”
Tread lightly, motherfucker.
I glare at the side of his face, but he’s oblivious.
“That’s me,” Haley says. “A woman with a can-do attitude.”
“So many women would think they need a man to help them,” Bryant says. “It’s impressive.”
I shove off the counter and stand straight—milking every bit of my six-one frame as I can.
I know where this guy is going with this line of thought. He’s trying to corner her into suggesting she might need a man’s help with something then—bingo! He’s there to step in and save the day.
Haley’s lips part to respond, but I beat her to the punch.
“Do you need a man’s help, Haley?” I raise a brow her way, crossing my arms over my chest.
I’m not sure where I was going with that but—
“Is that an offer, Grayson?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest too.
Not what I expected.
“I can help …” Bryant’s hand raises and then falls slowly to his side.
My eyes lock with Haley’s. It’s a silent war between us as we fire unspoken shots across the store’s hardwood floor, only narrowly missing Bryant in the process.
She’s more aggressive today and sure of herself.
I don’t know why she’s like this, but I fucking love it.
I imagine her pouty little lips wrapped around my cock. Her warm, dainty hands massaging my balls. Her small, perfect tits bouncing as she rides my dick and screams my name, not giving a shit who hears it or who cares.
My body shifts in a failed attempt at relieving some of the ache in my groin.
“Do you think that was an offer?” I ask.
Her confidence slips. Her jaw sets, and she whirls around on her heel and faces Bryant.
He’s bewildered. “Am I … missing something here …?” He motions back and forth between Haley and me.
“Bryant,” she says, her tone sugary once again, “I have a problem, and I was wondering if you could help.”
I clench my fists at my side.
“I …” Bryant takes a step away from me and gulps. “I don’t know. Maybe? If this is about ceiling fans, you know, maybe you should ask someone else—”
“It’s not.” Haley turns her back to me. “It’s about … men.”
You’re kidding me right now.
“Oh.” His eyes dart to mine and then back to her just as quickly. “What about men?”
“I have a couple of situations in my life where some clarity from the male species’ point of view would help. So, I’m looking for a man—an alpha male, preferably—”
“And you’re asking him?” I stare at the back of Haley’s head. “No offense, Bryant.”
Or take offense. I don’t give a shit.
“None taken …”
The sound of Rueben coming back to the counter is like a needle being inserted into a filled balloon. The tension pops.
Bryant’s shoulders sag as he takes a bag from Rueben. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” Rueben surveys the three of us. “Let Rosie know she can just pay me back in inventory when your truck comes. Your boss is the sweetest.”
“Don’t I know it. Thanks, Rueben.” Bryant heads for the door. “Take care, everyone.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. The doors chime as he disappears into the afternoon.
I start to feel bad until I remember that if I hadn’t interjected, he’d be in Haley’s house today helping her hang a ceiling fan.
Or worse.
Nah, fuck that guy.
“Grayson, your box is out back. It was just delivered. Can you wait just a second and I’ll grab it? I’m sorry for keeping you waiting like this, but today has been nuts,” Rueben says.
“It’s fine,” I say without looking at him.
I just watch Haley.
She stares right back at me. I can’t tell if she’s confused or annoyed or pissed off, and I don’t know which one of those things I prefer.
Rueben mutters something under his breath and heads into the back. As soon as he’s out of sight, Haley releases a breath.
“Why are you such a dick?” She shakes her head. “Dammit, Grayson. That was rude.”
“That wasn’t rude. That was saving you from having Bryant in your house tonight.”
She arches a brow. “And that would be terrible, why?”
I narrow my gaze.
“You know what? He’s a nice guy. Not that nice guys work out for me, because they don’t, but you know what nice guys do? Anything you give them consent to do.”
My blood turns to gasoline, and her demeanor is the match. My insides burn with a ferocity that I have only felt a few times in my life—and never over a woman.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I mutter.
Her eyes fly open. “Me? A pain in your ass? Please, explain. I’d love to know how I cause you any grief after that display of … whatever it was between you and … well, just really you. Bryant didn’t even participate.”
“He didn’t participate because he doesn’t have the balls.”
She snorts. “To what? Argue with you? Because the last time I checked, I actually very literally do not have balls, and I’m going toe-to-toe with you right now.”
I run my fingernails over the top of my head and try to calm the hell down.
This is why I don’t interact with her outside of Fireside. This is why I keep my attraction to her quiet. The way I feel about her is so wild, so animalistic, that I’m afraid we’d burn the whole town down if I ever unleashed it.
She sucks in a long, smooth breath. “Why did you do that?”
The thought of Bryant’s hands on you makes me want to do very illegal things.
I don’t give her an answer. I don’t know how to answer her. How do I explain that I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place with a very hard cock to boot?
How do I tell her that I’m not interested in the things she wants out of a man. Things like dates, puppies, kids. Those three things make me burst into hives.
I have one-night stands for a reason—primarily to dissuade any of the above from happening. If I touch her, even once, I know hell is going to open and swallow me whole.
She’s too sweet for me. Too innocent. Too pure.
I’m too much of an asshole for her. Too unattached. Too careless.
But I can’t help myself from intervening in situations like Bryant if I know about them. It eats me up knowing she’s with other men, so I choose not to know. I don’t listen. I don’t see. I let myself have doses of her four days a week in a controlled environment, and then I go home and jack off in the shower.
No one knows any different.
It works.
The whole setup is effective.
Until now, I fear.
Either way, there’s a crack in my plan, and I’m going to have to figure out how to stitch it shut. The first move is getting this question-and-answer session over with. Once that’s through, she can’t hold it over my head, and Garret won’t look at me and mouth, “Poor Tristan,” every five minutes at work.