Page 23 of Playing Dirty
I ran my hand across the unopened package and finally exhaled. This weekend, the boys and I planned to set up the trail cams on the ridge in the area of the fresh tracks.
But tonight?
I sat here and wrestled with the truth—I hadn’t made her mine.
And I’m not sure how I’ll survive it.
The knock came just as I sat down, glass still half full, silence pressing in like a second skin.
Three firm raps—Sawyer’s signature.
I didn’t have to look. He always knocked like he expected you to be armed, but owed him a beer anyway.
I opened the door and found him standing there with a six-pack swinging from his fingers and that shit-eating grin that meant either trouble or wisdom—or both.
“Didn’t expect company,” I said, stepping aside.
“I bring beer and judgment,” he replied. “A man like you should never be left alone after a night with a woman he wants but didn’t touch.”
I groaned. “Right to the point, huh?”
He walked in, dropped the beer on the kitchen island, and cracked two open like he owned the place. “I came to check on you, not eulogize your balls.”
I snorted despite myself and took the bottle he offered. “You want a seat or just here to make snide comments standing up?”
“I like the view,” he said, nodding toward the sleek countertops and the trail cam box still unopened. “Place still looks like a real estate brochure. Sterile as hell.”
“Better than clutter,” I muttered, taking a long sip.
“Better than lonely?” he asked, voice low.
That one landed—harder than I wanted to admit.
I leaned against the island, bottle in hand. “What do you want, Sawyer?”
He held my gaze for a beat. Then, quieter, “Why didn’t you make a move on her?”
I looked out the kitchen window. Snow reflecting moonlight like shards of glass. “Because it wouldn’t have been fair.”
“To her?”
“To both of us.”
“Bullshit,” he said, dragging a stool out with the toe of his boot and sitting. “You didn’t make a move because you were afraid you’d both like it.”
I glared. “You done?”
He didn’t blink. “Not even close.”
I slammed my beer down on the counter, not hard enough to break anything—but close.
“She was vulnerable,” I said. “Cold, tired, barely holding it together. You don’t take advantage of that. You don’t cross that line.”
“She’s also a grown woman,” Sawyer said calmly. “And I know you—you don’t just want her body. You wanther. You’ve wanted her since before she left with Tessa years ago.”
I let that one hang in the air. Because it was true, and we both knew it.
“Let’s just focus on the actual problem here,” I said, brushing past the ache in my chest. “You found anything else on Matt?”
