Page 10 of Wishing Hearts

Jesus.

“That’s a bold statement, Sam,” I respond, shifting my weight as my cock plumps.

Sam grins, raking his teeth over his bottom lip in a way that has my gaze dropping. “I’ll get you callin’ me Sammy yet.”

“You’re a cocky fucker, aren’t you?” I mutter, heading toward the barn doors. Sam stays at my side.

“Mm,” he rumbles. “I like that word comin’ outta your mouth.”

“Which one?” I ask, knowing I’m only egging him on at this point. But my pulse is firing, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about the prospect of some uncomplicated fun. I want to feel again. It’s been too damn long.

“Cock,” he says, answering my question. “And fuck.”

I clear my throat. He has a point. Those words coming out of his mouth in that Southern drawl are downright sinful.

“Meet you there?” Sam asks as we round the corner of the barn, heading side by side toward our vehicles.

I’m about to say yes when I realize… “Shit. Give me an hour.”

I check the time on my phone. Yeah, an hour should work. Winnie will be going to bed soon, which will give me plenty of time to read her a story before Sam arrives.

Sam nods, not questioning me, even though I can tell from his expression he’s curious. I don’t think he knows how not to be.

When we reach my truck, Sam stops with me. I plop my bag inside the vehicle and climb in, and he takes a hold of my door, as if getting ready to close it for me.

“Hey, Harrison?”

My lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Please don’t change your mind.”

“Pardon?” I ask, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in Sam’s tone.

He steps closer, putting his body right beside the cab of my truck. So close his chest brushes the side of my arm.

“You can always say no,” he says quietly. Seriously. “I’m not gonna push you on somethin’ like that. But, fuck… I just really hope you don’t change your mind.”

Is this because I asked for an hour? Does he think I accepted just to placate him, and I’m going to beg him off as soon as I’m gone?

“I’m not changing my mind,” I tell the man, chest simmering with something warm when Sam exhales in clear relief.

His smile is back in full force as he retreats a step, hand returning to my doorframe. “Good. In that case, see you in an hour.”

With that, Sam shuts my truck door and steps away, cocky grin in place as he swaggers backwards. And I realize, even if I wanted to change my mind—which, to be clear, I don’t—I wouldn’t be able to anyway.

I never got Sam’s number.

Chapter 4

Sammy

I’m whistling on the drive over to Harrison’s rental. I swung by the motel first to clean myself up, considering how filthy I got, but it was a quick trip in and out before I stopped at the small grocery store in town for some beer. Main Street wasn’t terribly busy, but there were a few people going in and out of Nash’s restaurant-slash-bar just down the road from the grocers.

When I pull around the little looping driveway to Loretta Olroy’s rental properties, I spot Harrison’s truck right away. It’s parked out in front of the green house, and I pull up behind it, cutting the power. Checking myself in the mirror, I smooth a hand over my short hair and then hop out of the truck.

The lights are on inside the rental, a soft glow filtering through the drawn curtains. The porch stairs creak when my boots land on them, but the place otherwise appears to be in good condition. I knock on the door, beer at my side, and wait.

What feels like twenty minutes later—but in all likelihood is probably twenty seconds—Harrison pulls open the door. A phone is held down at his chest, and he looks stressed, the lines of his face pinched. My gut sinks, but Harrison waves me in.

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