Rules of Protection(71)

So you can imagine my surprise when he did stop.

People were talking as they came out of the bar, but I was the only one who ignored them. Jake let his head rest on the back of the seat and blew out a breath. “Emily…”

“You’re thinking,” I breathed into his ear. “Stop it.”

Jake’s bottom half was definitely there, but his top half was only semi-present and still contemplating. Eager to finish what he started, I trailed my tongue down his neck and kissed him. His hands worked their way under my dress and up the back of my thighs.

Then I heard a sound bordering on a laugh. “You liar.”

“It’s a thong,” I said, still kissing his neck. “I never said I wasn’t wearing any panties. I only suggested I might not be.”

His hands stopped moving as he swore under his breath. “Emily, I…”

I pulled back to look at him. “God, Jake, don’t do this again. I’m horny and shitfaced and—”

“That’s why we can’t. I feel like I’m taking advantage.”

“By all means, take advantage!”

“You know what I mean. I feel like I’m in a wading pool, and it’s getting deeper and deeper.”

I nipped his bottom lip with my teeth and whispered into his mouth, “Isn’t that the point…to go deeper?”

The seconds stretched on indefinitely.

“Not when you’re drunk,” he said. “Alcohol fuels bad judgment. I don’t want you to regret this.”

“What are you…a human Breathalyzer? Jesus, Jake. We’ve nearly had sex dozens of times in the past week and I was sober each time. Why do you think I’d regret it now?”

“Emily, I told you before…I don’t do meaningless sex.”

“It won’t ever mean anything as long as you keep stopping it from happening. My God, Jake, virgins safeguard themselves less than you do.”

“Cue the violins. Poor Emily didn’t get laid,” he said sarcastically.

“Don’t turn this around on me. Maybe you shouldn’t start something you obviously can’t finish.”

“This is about you. You have a habit of making bad choices. I can’t help it if I don’t want to be one of them.”

“Oh, f*ck me.” I pulled my dress up to cover my breasts and climbed back into the passenger seat.

“Sweetheart, if a frolic is all you’re wanting, then you should have ridden home with Cowboy,” Jake said, buttoning his pants. A brief but tangible silence followed. “You actually considered it for a moment, didn’t you?”

I propped my arm on the door and looked at him, realizing he was serious. “You think all I care about is sex?”

“If the shoe fits,” Jake said, shrugging as he cranked the old truck.

For a moment, I sat in stunned silence, then my temper flared. “If that’s what you think of me, then you’re the biggest jackass I’ve ever met.”

“Guess I’m a jackass.”

The drive to the house was excruciatingly quiet. My desire for intimacy and Jake’s lack of providing wasn’t the problem, no matter what he believed. I had a hard time swallowing his unsavory opinion of me. As far as he was concerned, I wanted to be with someone, and that someone could’ve been anyone. He was wrong.

Jake had been loitering in my heart—and occasionally on my body—since the first night I laid eyes on him. Whenever he was near, I had a hard time regulating my emotions. My heart was ripe for picking, but Jake refused to harvest my crop…in more ways than one.

Sure, the hot and cold thing bothered me. It’s simple. Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish. It wasn’t about sex, though. I would’ve been angry if we’d been playing Monopoly and he’d quit in the middle of the game.

As we pulled up to the house, Jake said, “Let’s go inside.”

“I need a minute,” I said, my voice wavering slightly.

He started to argue, but stopped himself. “Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes alone.” He knew I wasn’t going anywhere since he pocketed the truck keys.

Once he went inside the cottage, I sighed in frustration. Maybe we were too different. I liked being reckless and carefree, foregoing all the rules. But I was in love with a frustratingly precise man of the law, one who adhered to responsibility and respected rules.

We weren’t an ideal couple, and chances are, it’d never work. Probably the equivalent of trying to breed a duck to a chicken. I, of course, would consider myself the duck, since they’re cuter. And everyone knows chickens have peckers. I knew I was drunk when the vision of a chicken’s pecker made me giggle.

The more I thought about Jake, the more muddled my feelings became. The last week had taken a heavy toll on my heart. After Jake saved my life several times, most people would consider it White Knight Syndrome, but that wasn’t it. I was in love with him. I’d never felt this sure of anything in my life.

Eventually, this whole ordeal would be over, and Jake wouldn’t feel obligated to protect me anymore. But would he still care? After all, it’s not like he said he loved me. Even I knew to care and to love are two very different things. I cared enough about the birds to not want Hank to pull off their heads, but I wasn’t in love with them. And if Hank wanted to pull the head off something, why didn’t he take care of the dreadful rooster?