but hey, I’ve always been a little selfish. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?
And my problem is Detective Colton Matthews. What started as a little harmless flirtation that first day has somehow morphed into a longing that has taken over nearly every waking thought, and although many of those thoughts—like the ones I’m having now—lean toward the sexual side of things, I also think about everyday things, like drinking coffee together or watching the sun rise. More than once, I’ve let myself envision what he would look like cooking a meal or doing yardwork.
I punch the pillow under my head, because I know none of that stuff can happen. Dating a man thirteen years older than me? Never going to happen, especially not after acting so irresponsibly last night. What grown man wants to be responsible for a woman who gets drunk in her car at the park?
My intention last night was to just get a break from everything going on, including Colton. I didn’t park my car with the hopes that I would end up in his bed. Yet, here I am. I’m moments away from having to do the walk of shame when I haven’t reaped any of the rewards. There’s no beard-burn marking my skin. My muscles don’t ache from overuse.
All I have is a worsening headache and shame.
In an attempt to prolong the inevitable, I regretfully climb out of his bed. I hate the sight of unruffled sheets on the far side. Although I hoped he’d climb in bed with me, I never expected him to. And hope, like most often, is fruitless.
The bathroom is inviting when I step inside, and without a second thought, I strip down and climb in the shower, moaning with relief when the hot water pounds on my back. Tension I didn’t know I was holding onto leaves my muscles slowly, and the water is running cold by the time I turn it off.
His towels are soft, something I’d never expect from a bachelor, and I take my time drying off, pausing periodically to breathe in the scent of my skin that is now coated with his fragrance from his body wash. Putting on my clothes from yesterday isn’t going to happen. Just the sight of them piled on the floor makes me think about the horror of responding to the scene where a young woman was found dead.
Honestly, I’m no longer thinking about escape, not after spending more time in his space. If anything, I never want to leave. I push down thoughts of consequences and open Colton’s closet door, selecting a dark button-down shirt before grabbing the top pair of boxers from his drawer.
I feel like a temptress as I roll the boxers up so they stay on my hips and can’t help biting my lip when I take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. After rinsing my mouth with mouthwash, I gather as much courage as I can muster and leave the room.
I won’t do any kind of begging with Colton, but maybe voicing my thoughts to him would help. Maybe if he knew how I felt, things would be different. Maybe if I let him catch me watching him, he would understand how much I desire him. There’s only one way to find out, and I’m determined to leave this house today with every one of my cards on the table. Rejection would suck, but at least I can go home knowing how he wants to proceed.
I mastered the art of sneaking around by the time I was twelve, not that I ever got past my dad without him knowing, so I traverse the hallway on the tips of my toes. Pausing just inside of the tidy living room, I take a moment to watch Colton. Asleep in the recliner, he looks incredibly uncomfortable. Having sunk down during the night, his long legs extend past the end of the chair, bare feet hanging out of the end of the blanket.
Guilt swims in my gut. The man worked hard this week, and my antics have relegated him to a horrible night of sleep. I could spend all day watching him, trying to ignore the urge to wake him up with a kiss and insist he go climb in his bed while I make him breakfast, but a noise in the other room distracts me.
Tilting my head, I wait for the noise again, thinking maybe he has a dog or something, but silence