Wicked Fall (12 page)

And that was it.

Haven’t heard a damn thing since.

No email directing me to do something here at the office.

No text to see how I’m doing.

No call to say, “Hey, Callie. I fucking loved what we did other night. Want to do it again?”

Just… nothing.

And I. Am. Pissed.

I am totally being blown off, and I’m actually really, really pissed.

He knows.

That fucker knows that I’ve crushed on him almost my entire life. I offered him my virginity. I let him finger me twice and then leave me. I let him fuck me in public while someone watched. He has got to know that I’ve got some feelings brewing up inside of me that might just need discussed.

He knows alright, and that’s why he’s cut out of here. So he doesn’t have to deal with little Callie Hayes’ tender sensibilities.

Asshole!

“You look like you want to castrate someone right now,” Bridger comments casually as he takes the toothpick from his mouth.

I school my features, try to hide my feelings, and shrug my shoulders. The last person I would talk to about my feelings regarding Woolf is his best friend. I’m not in the mood to listen to him defend his buddy.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” I tell him as I step around my desk and head toward the front door. “If you want to hang around, be my guest. No telling if he’ll show up.”

“Actually, he’ll be here in about an hour. Texted me a bit ago,” Bridger says with a smirk.

I glare at him. “Then what was with the dumb act when you walked in?”

He shrugs, but his eyes are filled with mischief. “Just wanted to see if you knew where he was.”

I narrow my eyes at him and reach out toward the door. “You knew when you walked in here I didn’t know where he was, and I don’t appreciate you trying to rub my nose in it.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” he says with raised eyebrows and holding his hands up defensively, the toothpick still gripped between a thumb and forefinger. “I was just trying to get a read on things so I could offer up my expert advice to you.”

My hand drops from the doorknob. He’s put the bait out there, and I’m thinking about taking it. “What are you? A relationship expert or something.”

Bridger snorts and looks at me like I’m the dumbest person on the face of the earth. “Fuck no. I don’t do relationships.”

And he actually shudders in what I think might be revulsion when he says the word “relationships”.

“Then why would I want your advice?” I ask caustically.

“Because I am a Woolf Jennings expert,” he says with a wink. “I know him better than anyone on this planet, and it’s your lucky day that I feel like sharing.”

Turning to face Bridger, I cross my arms over my chest. I look at him skeptically, but he has me hooked.

He knows it too, so there’s no sense in dancing around. I take the bait. “Okay, oh wise one. Lay it on me.”

Bridger walks over to the secretarial chair I just vacated, considers sitting in it but then reconsiders because there’s no way his frame would fit into that thing, so instead, he chooses to lean back against the wall.

“Let me make sure I have the entire story.” He pauses and gives me a confident wink before he says, “You crushed on Woolf your entire life. You wanted him to take your virginity. He refused but did give you your first orgasm. He also broke your heart, but you still retained a part of it for him. Now you’re back and Woolf doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re not the same girl he knew. You’re different. You want more in your life, and the type of “more” you want is exactly the type of “more” that Woolf can give you. The only problem is that now that he’s fucked you… felt that sweet pussy… he’s hooked dangerously on a woman he wants but doesn’t really think he deserves. You, on the flip side, felt that amazing cock inside of you and realized it was the best feeling in the world, but you’re also a woman with feelings and emotions. You want more from Woolf. You want his cock and his heart. And today… well, you’re just pissed he hasn’t called you and reassured you that when he fucked you the other night at The Silo with Cain watching, that was something a bit more intimate than just casual sex.”

He finally shuts up.

My head is spinning.

I blink hard at him.

“How in the fuck do you know all that?” I ask in amazement, not even mortified he knows intimate details like that and is throwing around ‘cock’ and ‘pussy’ like it’s nothing. “I mean… okay, clearly, Woolf tells you everything, which is a testament to your friendship. But how do you know me? I mean… how could you possibly know that was my first orgasm? It’s like you read my mind.”

Bridger gives a soft snort of amusement but his eyes are serious. “It’s just something I do. Read people, that is. As to that being your first orgasm, Woolf suspected it and now you just confirmed it for me. Now, do you want my advice?”

“Let me guess,” I say lightly. “You’re going to tell me to leave your buddy alone. He doesn’t need the crazy that comes with trying to form a relationship. Or wait… actually, you’ll tell me that Woolf doesn’t do relationships. He’s too closed off. It’s not his thing. He likes fucking around. He thinks monogamy is for fools.”

Bridger pushes off from the wall, straightening up his massive frame. In two long strides, he’s in front of me… staring down with an impassive face. I feel like I’ve angered him, and there’s a definite menacing vibe around him, yet his face is a blank slate.

I resist the urge to back away. My voice is raspy though when I say, “Isn’t that what you’re going to tell me? To stay away from Woolf?”

He stares at me for what seems like forever, but then he says, “No. That’s not what I was going to say.”

Bridger then puts the toothpick back in his mouth, turns toward the door and opens it up, steps out onto the wooden porch, and then shuts the door softly behind him. I’m frozen in place for just a moment, and then I’m scrambling out the door right behind him. I hastily lock up and then run down the steps, catching him before he opens the door to his Corvette.

“Wait,” I practically shriek at him. He turns to face me with a knowing smile on his face, and I have the grace to blush over my assumptions. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. Will you give me your advice?”

He considers my request, making me wait for it. He’s doing that to torture me, but he finally shuts the car door, takes the toothpick back out of his mouth and throws it to the ground, and then places his other hand on the hood of the car to rest. “My advice is simple. Stick with Woolf. He needs what you have more than you can ever imagine.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, even though what he told me was indeed simple. “What makes you say that about him?”

“Let’s just say that Woolf sort of got sucked into this lifestyle because of me. He followed me in and has had a ball fucking his way through a bevy of beautiful women. He’s never had a serious relationship in his life, and he’ll tell you that’s the way he likes it. But he’s wrong. He’s the type of man built for monogamy, but he’s gotten too sidetracked by me. He sees me and feels a bond toward me, and so he thinks this is the life for him. But it’s not. He may want those things that The Silo offers, but he doesn’t need it. Not like me. The sooner he realizes it and let’s it go, the happier he’ll be. And you, Miss Hayes, are just the woman to do that.”

Wow. Just wow.

Bridger keeps his gaze on me, giving me an opportunity to digest what he’s said. He wants to make sure I understand, and I do. I give him a nod of my head and a smile, and he gives me a tentative smile back as he opens the Corvette door. Just as he’s lowering himself in, I think of something else.

“Wait,” I call out, and he pauses. “Why do you need it?”

Bridger’s lips flatten out, and there is no trace of the smile left on his face. “That, Callie Hayes, is none of your business.”

He then drops down into the bucket seat of his car and shuts the door. I watch as he fires the engine and pulls away, leaving me with all kinds of confusion even though I clearly understood what he said.

The credits to Iron Man 2 start rolling, and I get up from the couch. Time to start Iron Man 3.

I decided when I got home this afternoon that I was going to consider Bridger’s advice. It’s an admitted fact on my part that I’ve carried a torch for Woolf Jennings for years and I have feelings invested. It’s also a fact that he desires me, and well duh… I’m hot for him too. That experience the other night at The Silo, from the moment I walked in until the moment Woolf was stuffing my semen-soaked panties in his back pocket, was the most exhilarating experience of my life. Woolf… inside of me… the most sensuous, erotic, naughty, and sinful thing ever. That one experience almost wiped the slate clean for me. It’s like no other sexual encounter has ever counted. It’s like I was a virgin and he made me new.

What I don’t know, though, is whether my heart can take the beating that Woolf would be sure to hand it if he’s really only wanting a sexual relationship. Or even worse yet, that the other night is all there will ever be. I would hope not. The mere fact that Bridger sought me out to tell me that told me something else.

It told me that Woolf must have some type of feelings for me or else Bridger wouldn’t be pushing this. That gives me the confidence to sit back and wait.

I slide the DVD out and put the next one in. Nothing makes me feel better than some super hero action and it will keep my mind occupied. I hit
Play
and then walk toward the kitchen to make some popcorn while the opening credits roll. My mom and dad are back in residence in Cheyenne so I have the entire house to myself. It’s not as grand as Woolf’s home, but at six-thousand square feet, it’s more than big enough to hold our family. My mom tried to talk me into coming with them, but I hastily declined. Part of it was because of Woolf, but the other part? Well, Jackson is my home. There’s no finer place in the world to be, and I never felt settled at the Governor’s Mansion. My goal, however, is to find a place of my own, but only after I find a more stable career than working as an assistant for a man that doesn’t bother to show up for work.

The doorbell rings just as I hit the kitchen and for a few seconds, I consider ignoring it. But then I think to myself… maybe, just maybe, it’s Woolf. He’s come to apologize. With flowers and to tell me that he misses me.

To tell me he wants me.

To tell me he needs me.

To beg me to make love to him.

I snicker to myself as my thoughts turn romantic and sweet, which is ludicrous. Woolf Jennings doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body and he’s about as sweet as a rattlesnake. Still, the prospect that maybe it is him has me walking toward the door, Iron Man and popcorn forgotten.

When I open my door, the heavy feeling of disappointment fills me so quickly, I almost buckle under the weight. The black-haired, blue-eyed devil I was angry at but was still hoping to see isn’t standing on the porch.

“Hello, Callie,” Will says softly with pleading eyes.

Soft, brown eyes I once thought were the answer to my broken heart, now begging me for something.

To forgive him?

To come back?

“What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise. Never in a million years would I think Will would have come here. He’s an incredibly busy and important man at his law firm. We had to plan vacations and trips at least a year in advance, and outside of the ten days he allotted himself every year for a vacation—on which I will point out he still worked—it practically needed a papal decree to get leave approved.

Will Tynnick simply didn’t drop everything and hop a plane to fly across the country.

“Can I come in?” he asks politely.

I automatically step back to give him entrance. While I didn’t think I was ready to have this conversation, the fact that he’s here and confronting me has sort of changed the game plan. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I shut the door behind him. I walk into the family room, and he follows me. After I pick up the remote control from the table and turn off the TV, I take a seat in one of the single armchairs done in thick blue leather.

Will looks around and murmurs, “I still can’t get over the amount of animals hanging in here.”

My eyes do a brief sweep of the room, taking in the various mounted heads. Typical western flare, the big, bad hunters showing off their skills. Elk and moose heads dot the walls with a large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, all mementos of animals killed through the years by my mom and dad. There’s not one stuffed mount up there killed by me, because even though I’m a Wyoming girl to the core and a meat eater to boot, I just can’t harm an animal. I can’t even kill the trout I catch and have to turn my head from my father as he breaks their necks after he takes them off the hook. My father thinks it’s adorable, my mother just shakes her head, I think slightly disappointed I’ve apparently not inherited that caveman strand of DNA that makes our people bring home sustenance.

Will takes a seat on the matching blue, leather couch which is overstuffed and cushy. It’s my favorite place to lay and watch TV, which is something I should be doing right this very minute.