Page 24 of Barn Burner
That would also mean I need to keep my hands off him late at night, and I’m not quite sure that’s something I’m ready to give up just yet.
We’ve currently stopped on one of the hills, looking out at the mountain vistas while having a drink and eating some of the sandwiches I prepared this morning. Dakota and Prince are grazing on the grass behind where we’re sitting, the former letting out happy little huffs as she eats.
Brayden takes in the scenic surroundings in front of him, so I take a moment to takehimin. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles. He leans back on his hands. The angle elongates what I now know is an incredibly strong torso and causes his biceps to curve beneath the plaid shirt he stole from my closet.
My clothes look so fucking good on him, too. I’ve never experienced this level of primal want before. I’ve had a total of two relationships, which only lasted a mere couple of months, but even during that time, I didn’t feel this immense need to be with someone. To protect them. To see them wearing my clothes and smiling over a fucking sandwich I made them.
My eyes drift to his face, which is currently shaded by the brim of his ball cap, but nothing could dull the soft smile that’s currently brightening his eyes.
He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it. His nose might not be completely straight, and he might have a faint scar lining the edge of his brow, but it’s the look of complete contentment and peace that is one I wish I could have ingrained in my memory.
His jaw is lightly dusted with dark stubble, like he forgot to shave this morning. Or maybe he didn’t care to. The Brayden sitting in front of me is so much more relaxed than the Brayden I found on the side of the road a couple of weeks ago. The tension in his shoulders has disappeared. The hurt he tried so hard to hide from us has gone from his eyes. It’s like a weight has been lifted from him. Whatever was troubling him seems to have now gone.
And as selfish as it may sound, knowing I may have had a part in making that happen… I wish I could be the one to make sure he’s never troubled by anything again.
“You’re thinking very hard over there,” he says teasingly.
“Mhm,” I hum, not wanting to confess to where my mind went. I clear my throat, then ask, “So, how old are you?”
He snorts a laugh. “You’re only asking me that now?”
I grunt, bending my knees enough to rest my arms on them. “It’s never been the right time to bring it up.”
“I’m twenty-four.” When I don’t respond, he glances over at me, squinting from the high sun. “Did you think I was older?”
“No, I figured you were mid-twenties.”
“Is it a problem?”
“It depends.”
He sits up, twisting his upper body toward me. “On what?”
“Whether you think I’m too old for you.”
He scoffs, tearing up a strand of grass. “Please. I don’t think that at all.”
I raise a brow, hoping he’ll elaborate on that thought.
“Why? How old are you?” he asks instead.
“Thirty-six.”
“Thirty-six and fucking sexy.”
I can’t stop the laugh from escaping. I shake my head, chuckling softly to myself.
“What?” He laughs.
“You. You’re just so…” I pause, trying to find the right word. “Brazen. You don’t have a filter. You just say whatever is on your mind.”
He goes quiet, and I wonder if I’ve said the wrong thing. I’m about to tell him that I think it’s a good thing when he opens his mouth. Only this time when he speaks, his voice has a hint of sadness to it. “I think it’s because I have to watch every single word I say at work and how I say it, otherwise it could be twisted and misconstrued into something very different from what I meant. It’s exhausting having to second-guess myself all the time, so when I don’t have to do that, it’s like I can’t keep my honesty in check. It’s like the tap has been opened, and it just pours out of me.” He uses his hands, waving them from his chest to the air in front of him, like a dam opening and water rushing through.
A spark of anger unfurls inside of me. I don’t know what it is he does for work, and I meant what I said to him last week about me not pushing for answers. In a way, not knowing will make it easier to let him go when the time comes. It keeps a level of anonymity, even though I desperately want to know every single thing about him.
But there’s also this need to protect him from whatever or whoever it is that makes him feel like he needs to be anyone except who he is. Who makes him feel like he needs to put on a facade and make him question his natural instinct. Sure, he’s bold as brass with me, and at first, I wasn’t sure how to take him, but that was my issue. I wouldn’t ask him to change himself just becauseIdidn’t know how to take him.
Placing my hand on the ground between us, I reach over to cup his face, brushing my thumb over his rough cheek, then the smoothness of his lower lip.
