Page 9 of Forbidden Cowboy
I don’t.
Her floral dress sways from her curvy hips to precisely above her knees. My fingers itch to climb those legs. I fist my hands together on top of the table and fight the desire to want to yankthat dress over her head and kiss her wherever the fuck I want. Hell, I’d like to do a whole lot more than kissing. But kissing is what put us in this damn predicament. If we hadn’t smooched at the kissing booth, I might have never discovered my feelings for a Fox. Especially not my best friend.
My gaze locks with hers. I hate how damn natural it feels. How I never felt anything close to these feelings with my ex-wife. Like how Hope’s eyes seem to soothe my soul.
“Bucky, I’ll have what he’s having.” She doesn’t take her eyes off me. Doesn’t ask to sit with me before sliding into the seat across from me. She doesn’t jump when our knees touch beneath the table. She doesn’t seem unnerved by my presence, the way she’s rattled the fuck out of me.
Bucky arrives with our brimming liquid gold. His eyes dart from mine to Hope. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was preparing to spread some gossip.
“Anything else? I got some wings ready to go hot and fresh for after tonight’s meeting.”
“We’re good—”
“I would love some wings.” Hope smiles sweetly at him. Her real smile. The one I’ve longed to see again.
“Coming right up.” Bucky squeezes Hope’s shoulder and winces. “My knee tells me there’s a storm coming.”
When we’re alone, I sip my beer. “What will people say, you sitting with a Wilde?”
“What will people say, you drinking alone?”
“I like to drink alone.”
“No one likes to drink alone.” She raises her mug in a salute before pressing the glass against her lips. She slugs back a hefty mouthful.
Her shoulders appear stiff, her eyes shifty. Maybe she’s not as unfazed as I originally thought.
“When did you and Bucky get so friendly?”
“I don’t play the feud hand, and Bucky is one of the few who also doesn’t.” Her wide smile is back, and damned if it doesn’t melt every wall I’ve built.
“I’m here to discuss the kissing booth.” She licks away the foam from her upper lip. I’m so goddam jealous of that foam.
“Since you made yourself crystal clear, you’re against resurrecting the booth; I’m here to let you off the hook.”
Her words shock me. But not nearly as much as my reaction, which should be, damn straight, you’re letting me off the hook.
It’s not.
Disappointment.
Anger.
Regret.
I say nothing and sip my beer.
“I’ve already been discussing the project with Wyatt Ashwood. You know Wyatt, his family owns the lumber yard.”
I know I want to give Wyatt a shiner. Or a broken arm. Or both.
“The Ashwoods agreed to donate the wood for the kissing booth. I had an entire proposal prepared to present to the committee.” She sighs, a sweet melody to my ears.
No sweet melody. Dammit!
“But I guess they didn’t need to see my proposal to give the go-ahead, and Wyatt already offered to help, so that lets you off the hook.”
“Who said I wanted to be let off the hook?” My big mouth is speaking without permission.