Fire Away (The Bunkhouse, #2)

by Lainey Lawson

I won’t put myself in this situation again, I swear. I’ve learned my lesson this time, I promise. But the outcome never changes, and I know even without a crystal ball that this will not be the last time I land on the jagged sharp surface of rock bottom.

If self-sabotage was an Olympic sport, I’d have a case of gold medals and my picture on a special edition Wheaties box for crying out loud.

Realizing that I’m watching Gage with the love of his life while I sit here by myself feels like hearing a record scratch. I want what they have.

There are already enough people in my life who never question or deride me. But Savannah and I are different together. When I push her patience, she shoves right back. I don’t just like that about her, I’m entranced by it.

I’m so starved for positive affirmation that even the little act of support that he’s putting on right now brings on a wave of comfort.

“Throw your shoe at me again, and I’ll spank you with it.”

I could buy a hundred acres if I had a dime for every time you stopped yourself from saying exactly what was on your mind around people that you’re worried won’t like you.”

I’m not the type to submit or get off on someone else telling me what to do. Or at least, I didn’t think that I was. But giving up control right here and now, burying my urge to argue, doing as he asks . . . it’s a rush of relief.

“Shit,” he whispers with his head buried in the crook of my neck. “If you keep doing that, this isn’t going to end in a fucking kiss, sweetheart.”

“Tell me to stop,” he growls

“Keep hiding all you want, Savvy girl. Push me away. I’m a patient man. I’ll earn you.”

“Don’t smile and laugh like that when you’re covered in my cum,” he smirks. “Or I might start to think you like it.”

I never understood why some guys make a big fuss about their best friend falling for their sister. If you don’t think she’s a grown woman capable of making her own decisions, or that your friends are shitty enough that you don’t want them near your sister, just say that.

“If you keep driving me crazy, I wouldn’t be surprised if a few silver strands started popping up,”

“I feel like I’m always the broken one who also cares too much, so I get out to protect myself.

I suppose loving yourself isn’t as hard as I thought it would be when you have others helping you do it.

“Wherever you want me, wherever you need me, I’m going to be there. You’re worth showing up for. If you can’t understand that about yourself, then I’m going to believe it for you.”

I don’t need foreplay. I need a muscled-up and half-naked working man covered in sweat.

He has the audacity to stand in front of me shirtless and all but tell me he needs me and then not expect me to climb him like a tree for fuck’s sake?

“Don’t be sorry,” she says between kisses. “It’s not your fingers that I wanted inside of me anyway.”

“I tried so hard at first, fighting how much I wanted you. I don’t have it in me anymore to act like I’m not aching for more of you. All the parts of you that you’re willing to give to me, I want them. Every single one.”

“I’m not going to fuck you—” he starts. I hold my breath and roll my lips into my mouth, biting them fiercely and closing my eyes. “Unless you’re mine. Really mine. No fake bullshit. Mine.”

Tell me there’s something sexier than a rough and hard-muscled working man with a farmer’s tan and I’ll call you a dirty rotten liar.

I’m learning that I can be a powerful and vulnerable woman at the same time. I needed someone to care for me while I was starting a new path in life and struggling to be kind to myself. I’m not so stubborn anymore that I can’t admit that.

“Warren. Don’t be silly. What could you possibly want to change?” “Her last name.”