Page 19 of Possessive Cowboy

“Change my mind?” I ask. “Why the hell would I change my mind?”

“I don’t know.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. Have you changed your mind?” I ask.

She smiles, then tilts her head to the side and taps her chin, pretending to ponder.

I lift her off the ground, pulling her thick thighs on either side of me so that she’s straddling my waist, and slam her roughly back against the door again.

“Don’t play games with me, sweetheart,” I say against her throat. “You won’t win.”

Her fingers tangle deeply into the hair on the back of my head, pressing me closer to her.

“So I’ll ask you again. Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” she gasps.

“I should take you again, right here,” I say. I begin to slide my hand up her shirt when she squirms.

“Wait,” she says. “The ice cream will melt!”

“The…ice cream?” I ask, pulled out of my lust by my pure confusion.

I let her slide down the door and regain her balance on her feet.

“The ice cream,” she explains. “I’m early because I brought…brought some supplies.”

“What supplies?” I ask.

She walks down the porch to the rickety green car in front of the house, pulling several large, heavy looking bags from the backseat. I rush forward to help her, taking the bags from her hands.

“You look like you’re moving in,” I comment, glancing at some of the items in the bags. “Is that a skillet?”

“Is it okay?” she asks with a frown.

I don’t say anything, looking at the bags more closely. There are all kinds of things in here. The skillet is the tip of the iceberg; it looks like she’s packed a whole grocery trip’s worth of food in here. And then in the other bag there are…cleaning supplies.

Cleaning supplies.

“You came to our date early to clean my house?” I ask flatly.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just…I wanted to make you dinner, and then when I thought about it, I realized your kitchen is probably…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence but I know what she’s thinking. My kitchen is probably dirty. Dusty and untouched. And she’s correct in her thinking. I hardly use my kitchen anymore. It’s more of a storage room than anything else.

Thinking about this makes me feel…prickly.

Embarrassed. That’s how I feel. Embarrassed at the way my house looks. I should have cleaned it up last night after Raina left. But I didn’t think she’d want to use the kitchen, for fuck’s sake! I thought we’d watch the sunset, and then if I’m lucky, go to bed together. So I cleaned the few needed areas of my home needed for that limited agenda, and nothing more.

Now she wants to cook me dinner.

Of course she does. Because she’s a god-damned angel. And for some reason, this angel is falling for a messed up, grouchy asshole of a cowboy like me.

“I’m sorry,” Raina groans, trying to tug one of the bags out of my hand. “Forget all about this, Mav. I got carried away thinking about tonight and wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Yeah,” I say.

That’s all I can think to say right now. I’m stuck, frozen, feeling embarrassed and unsure of myself.

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