Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,56

have my cake and eat it too, getting Cheyenne in bed while maintaining our just friends status?

After staying up half the night thinking about it, I came to the conclusion that the truth was probably all of the above.

I could admit to myself that a lot of it was me trying to be someone else—someone more like Moretti, who enjoyed acting on his impulses and always managed to have a good time and keep things light. Take a girl back to her hotel room, have some fun, say goodnight. No lies, no promises, no problems.

But I wasn’t Moretti, I thought as I got out of bed and into the shower. And while taking his advice to let go and have fun had made me feel young and alive, pumped full of testosterone and adrenaline, it hadn’t turned out the way I’d hoped.

Because with Cheyenne, there was no way to keep things light. We’d known each other too long. I felt too much for her.

And she loved me—at least, she’d said she did. It had knocked me out the way she’d confessed it. I’ve loved you hopelessly for so long . . . I’d been shocked. She’d hinted at a childhood crush before, but this felt like something different. Something deeper. Something stronger and yet more fragile.

Spending the night with me would give her hope, she’d said, her eyes full of tears, but her smile a little sheepish, as if she were embarrassed that being so close to me would mean so much to her. My chest had felt like it was caving in.

I’d wanted nothing more than to pull her back into bed, put my arms around her, and show her it would mean everything to me too. That I wouldn’t take it lightly. That I’d never hurt her. That I’d guard her heart as fiercely as she would.

Stay with me, I wished I could have said. Kiss me. Touch me. Whisper my name, and I’ll whisper yours. Tell me again how you love me. Let me give you hope. Let me give you everything.

But the words had been stuck in my throat.

Instead, I’d fallen back into the rut. Kept the walls in place. I’d let her go and promised to stay away.

It was all I could offer her.

“So how’d it go last night?” Moretti asked. He, Beckett, and I were seated by the fireplace in the lobby with cardboard cups of coffee, waiting for Griffin to come down. Then we’d all head into town for a proper shave at a barber shop. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Griff, but I saw you and Cheyenne leave together.”

“I saw that too,” said Beckett from next to me on the couch. “What’s up with you guys?”

I sipped my coffee. “Uh, we left together, but it didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Moretti’s smile faded. “Don’t tell me. You fucked up the line.”

“No, the line was fine the way I delivered it.”

“What was the line?” Beckett wanted to know.

“I just asked her if she wanted to go up to my room.”

Moretti rolled his eyes. “You fucked up the line.”

“So what happened?” Beckett leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

I took another sip of coffee, debating how much to say. “We went to my room, and she changed her mind.”

“Why?” Moretti asked.

I shrugged. “She realized it would be a bad idea. And she was right.”

“But she wanted to?”

I thought of how wet she’d been when I touched her. The way she’d sucked my tongue into her mouth. How her body had moved against my hand. The thought of it nearly made me groan. “Yeah.”

“And you wanted to?”

“Yeah.”

Moretti shook his head. “I really don’t understand this.”

I tried to explain it without betraying her feelings. “She was thinking ahead.”

“Ahead to what?” Beckett asked.

“Ahead to how she’ll feel once it was over,” I said, thinking that of all my friends, Beckett would probably understand the situation best. He was the quietest one in our foursome, but definitely the deepest thinker. We joked that he was probably the only cowboy in existence that had an MBA.

From fucking Yale.

But Moretti jumped in. “She’d feel fucking great, because you’d give her at least two orgasms—you do remember how to do that, right?”

Beckett laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, asshole.”

“So what’s the problem? Why is she able to think beyond orgasms in your hotel room?” Moretti shook his head. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”

“Will you fuck off? It’s not just about that with us. There are other things