Waiting for Willa (Big Sky, #3)(36)

“Wow,” I whisper, dragging my fingertips up and down his spine. He’s a little sweaty, but I don’t mind. I like feeling him on top of me. “That was fun and unexpected.”

“I was going to call you just before you called me,” he mutters, still catching his breath. “And then you surprised me. Kind of pissed me off, assuming I had another woman with me.”

“I was drunk, and my feelings were hurt.” I shrug a shoulder and watch as he rolls off me, taking me with him. He tucks me against his side. “And, a girl will overthink everything, especially possible reasons why the guy she’s with suddenly gets a hair up his ass to flee town.”

“I didn’t flee,” he counters and slaps my ass. “Now, get some sleep. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

I yawn. I want to disagree, to insist that we talk it out tonight. But I am tired, and my eyes are heavy. I want to have this conversation when I have a clear head, and I’m not in a sexual haze of desire.

Tomorrow is definitely the right time to talk it out, and we will. Before my mom brings Alex home. I’ll text her in the morning and ask her to keep him until the afternoon.

It feels good to be here with Max. Safe. Like my world is back on its axis again.

I guess Hannah was wrong. I definitely do not regret drunk-calling Max tonight. No, it turned out just fine for me.

I stretch against him, kiss his shoulder, and tangle my leg with his.

“Are you too warm?” I ask.

“No, I’m warm for the first time in days. Don’t go.”

I kiss his shoulder again and burrow deeper. “I’m not going anywhere.”





Chapter Eleven


Willa


“I FEEL HUMAN AGAIN,” I announce as I pad down the hallway to the kitchen, where Max is scooping scrambled eggs onto plates. “And I smell bacon.”

“I made you breakfast,” he says with a smile and leans in for a quick kiss. “Hungover?”

“Not at all.” I walk over to the Keurig to brew my second cup of coffee and lean against the counter to watch Max move about my kitchen. He’s tall and broad, with his dark hair disheveled, wearing the same clothes from last night.

His feet are bare, and for some reason I can’t put my finger on, I find that ridiculously hot.

Of course, Max is ridiculously hot.

Every day.

Damn him.

“Do you need ketchup or anything?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Then breakfast is served.”

He carries our plates to the breakfast nook that’s tucked behind the kitchen. The round table sits before a bay window that looks out into my backyard. Deer walk across the grass.

“Thanks for cooking.” I take a bite of bacon and sigh in happiness. “I don’t usually get a home-cooked meal that I didn’t make myself.”

“I’m pretty good at breakfast,” Max says with a crooked smile. “The rest of the day isn’t as great.”

“I can live with that.” I sprinkle some pepper on my eggs and take a bite. “So, how was Seattle?”

“It was fine,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

“That’s good.”

I hate this. Awkwardness has never been our thing. I get the feeling that he’s not telling me something, but I won’t ask him to talk about it again. I’ve done that. He’s an adult. When he’s ready to talk, he will.

Or, he won’t.

“So, you came home yesterday?” I ask lamely, wanting to fill the silence.

“Yeah, I left Seattle around five Montana time, and it was early evening by the time I got home and settled. I had a little work to see to, and then I was going to call, but you beat me to it.”

I nod, a little embarrassed by how I must have sounded when he answered the phone.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I’m not usually one to drunk-dial someone.”

“You’re kidding.” His voice is dry, making me laugh.

“I’m actually not one to drink much, period. I have Alex.” It’s as simple as that, and Max doesn’t need me to explain further. He nods.

“But if you’re always horny when you’re a little drunk, we could probably schedule it in once in a while.”

I snicker and take a bite of my eggs. “Trust me, you don’t need to get me liquored up for me to want to bang you.”

“You’re so romantic, darling.”

I giggle again. “Wanting you isn’t an issue.”

“That’s a relief.”

“As long as there are no blond bimbos.”

He narrows his eyes and carefully sets his coffee mug down. Before I can react, he reaches out, grabs my wrist, and tugs me into his lap, then cups my jaw and brushes his thumb along my lower lip.

“There’s no one but you, Wills. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

I sigh and tip my forehead down to his before admitting, “I’m not good at feeling insecure.”

“I don’t like that I made you feel that way,” he says. He swallows, kisses me, then sets me back in my chair. “We need to talk.”

This is it. He’s dumping me.

“You’re blinking.”