Bossing the Cowboy (Circle B Ranch #4) - Kennedy Fox Page 0,55
well, you’re my boss, so by making a move, I would’ve risked being fired.”
“I wouldn’t have fired you.”
I shrug, sucking in a deep breath. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me for not knowing that after dealing with your assholish ways.”
He releases a chuckle. “Assholish ways?”
“What would you call it?”
“Being professional. Staying in my lane. Not dipping my pen in company ink.”
I chuckle with amusement. “Okay, so why tell me now? Unless you’re going to fire me and…”
“I’m not firing you.”
I exhale in relief. “Alright.”
“I told you because I can’t hold back anymore. I still stand by everything I said. I’d be no good at the dating thing because I haven’t done it in so long. But honestly, I’m tired of pretending around you. Having you think I didn’t care was how I protected myself. I could’ve told you, but it never felt like the right time.”
“If you constantly go through life waiting around, you risk missing out on something that could be great.” My heart beats erratically at how honest we’re being. I’ve never seen this side of him before.
“You’re right, which is why I got so mad when Stephen’s hands were all over you.”
I groan. “They were not.”
“Well, close enough. Too close.”
“So you were jealous?”
“Yes. And I didn’t like it.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks. Hell, if that’s all it took for Dr. Asshole to admit his feelings, I would’ve brought a man around ages ago.
Okay, that’s not true. I wouldn’t have used someone to make another man jealous, but it would’ve been amusing nonetheless.
“And would you be saying this if Stephen and I were dating?”
“Hell no. I have some dignity left,” he says seriously, then flashes a smirk.
I smile, unsure of where we go from here. “Is your offer to make a late dinner still on the table?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”
“So I admitted how long I’ve liked you. I think it’s your turn,” Connor states as he whips eggs in a bowl. After we arrived at his house, he gave me a quick tour before leading me to the kitchen.
I shake my head as he cooks. “Hmm. No. I don’t think so.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why not? It’s a fair trade.”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“Well, now you gotta tell me.”
I roll my eyes, reluctantly giving in. “Fine, but no laughing.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“Then forget it.”
“Alright, alright. I won’t.”
I suck in a breath and prepare for the humiliation. “I was fourteen when I met you for the first time, and well…it was then.”
His eyes widen, then he blinks a few times. “Fourteen?”
I nod.
“You can’t know what you feel at fourteen,” he counters.
Looking up at him, I shrug. “Well, I knew I felt something, and then again when I entered your office for my interview. There was one time I thought maybe you did too. But I was reminded how stupid I was to think that when you acted like your douchebag self.”
“Oh come on.” He grabs the milk from the fridge, then the bread. “Tell me when you thought that.”
“The night you showed up at the club.”
“Yeah, let’s call that having liquid courage and feeling like a total ass after. Would you believe me if I said I wanted to drag you to my hotel room and show you exactly how I felt?”
He says it so casually, yet my entire body feels like it’s on fire. I wished he would have.
“Probably not, but then again, you were drunk.”
“Tipsy,” he counters, and I snort.
Wanting to help as he prepares the French toast, I walk over to his spice rack and look for the cinnamon. “Call it what you want, but when I fell on you, you held me as if you didn’t want to let go. I thought you were going to kiss me that night, but then you snapped me back into my place when you scolded me for working there.”
“Having you quit was the only option. You barely had any clothes on, and I didn’t want other men looking at you,” he says in a serious tone.
I hand him the jar as our stare intensifies.
“I still don’t.” He sets it on the counter and stops preparing our food.
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me how you feel.” I need more than just his words.
He swallows hard as if he’s fighting an internal battle, not moving or speaking.
“You’re stubborn,” I tell him. “And selfish.”
“Excuse me?” He arches a brow.
“You don’t want me around other men, but you don’t make an effort to be with me. So you want me single and at your mercy,