Page 36 of Honeyed

“Good day?” he murmurs.

“One of the best. Thank you for my store.” I grin, looking at him like he’s simultaneously a meal I want and my knight in shining armor.

“Anything for you, Al.” Those gray eyes bore into mine as he walks me to the passenger side of the car.

Something in the air shifts, and I half expect him to push me up against the side of it rather than open the door. But when he does and tucks me safely inside, all hope deflates from my chest like a sad balloon.

Warren is quiet as he gets in, turns on the car, and backs out of the parking lot. Soft rock hums through the front seat, and he sings along under his breath.

And because I’m drunk and because I’m tired of wanting this man and not being able to have him, I cross the boundary of the center console and rest my hand on his knee.

“Al, what’re you doing?” His voice is sharp.

“Touching my husband.” I lean into the little pet names we were using at the bar.

“You know we only do that in public.” A warning is issued in those words.

“There are benefits to having a wife.” I ignore him and go with my typical bulldozing.

“I have all the benefits I need being married to you. A best friend, a support system, a confidant. We don’t need any others.” Although he’s trying to be gentle, Warren is only reiterating the stance he’s held for ten-plus years.

“We’re married. We could have those benefits.” The alcohol has made me unhinged when it comes to my level of horny.

As if I haven’t wanted this man desperately for years and am using our predicament as an excuse to get in his pants. My hand skates over his thigh as I try my best to act seductively.

“Cut it out, Al.” He means to sound definitive, but I hear the nervous crack in his voice.

“Why? You know it’d be good. It was good, even as fumbling teens.” I drop this tidbit like it isn’t the first time we’ve acknowledged it out loud.

Warren’s shocked intake of breath demonstrates just how far over the line I’ve gone. “You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re doing. Hands off and let’s focus on getting you to bed safe.”

The car zips through town as the feeling of rejection seeps into my bones. Leaning as far as I can away from him, I stare out the window while trying to keep my tears behind my eyes. The twinkle of lights from the houses still awake in Hope Crest grows few and far between as we drive away from downtown.

“This is what happens when PDA leads to confusion,” Warren grumbles, and as I swing my eyes to him, I see he’s keeping his on the road.

“No, this is what happens when you make someone bury feelings for decades and then ask that same person to marry you,” I snap, losing my temper and all control on my thoughts and emotions.

That shuts him up, the interior of the car silent for the rest of the short drive home. Between being in drunk hysterics internally and the ever-present sting of Warren not wanting to admit he loves me the way I love him, I know I need to make it to my room to break down.

Once he parks the car, I’m immediately bolting out and heading for the front door.

“I’m trying to be a good man. A stand-up friend. The kind of guy I never saw modeled until I came in contact with your family. Please, let me be him.”

His quiet voice is what spurs me to stutter and turn. When I do, Warren’s entire frame is slumped, his eyes on the pavement, as if he’s sorry he has to do this to me … but not sorry he’s doing it.

Rolling my eyes, I try to keep it together for one moment more. “I don’t want you to be him. I want you to stop acting. I want you to do whatever is in your heart. Whatever you feel for me, that’s the man I want. Stop thinking about the person you think you need to be.”

With every step he takes toward me, our eyes locking, my heart hiccups. Is this finally the moment he’ll put an end to my madness?

Warren’s gaze roams over my face when he comes within an inch of me, and I unconsciously lean forward, desperately trying to telepath to him to do something.

A beat passes. Then two. The tension is so electric and frustrating, I wouldn’t be surprised if the power lines around us started sparking.

“I can’t.” He shakes his head as if dispelling all the possibilities he just thought about acting on.

My heart plummets, a sickly feeling moving through my cheeks as bile gathers in my throat. The tall, strapping man nearly runs inside like a shark is chasing his ass, leaving me on the driveway in dejected horror. My heart hangs by a thread, threatening to rip itself from my body altogether.

If marrying him hasn’t given him the go-ahead to act on how he really feels, I’m fearful that nothing ever will.

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