I guess that’s why I pulled the Irish goodbye and snuck out like a chicken. All the guys were perfect gentlemen, but they were heading for a level of whipped up in celebrating their win that I just didn’t want to be.

The bar scene exhausts me now, and as the cab lights up the dark country roads, I realize I’m torn between wanting this summer to be over because I need the space from Cade, and never wanting it to end because I don’t want to go back to my life in the city.

We cross under the big wooden posts that mark where the Wishing Well Ranch land begins.

“Just down this road and then veer left,” I direct the driver, who responds with a simple hum. I’m grateful that he hasn’t been the chatty type of cab driver because I’m all chatted out for tonight.

When the lights turn into Cade’s driveway and shine at the picturesque rancher, my body sags with relief. This isn’t my home, but . . . I feel like I’m home.

I tap my card on the cabbie’s machine to pay the obscenely expensive total and step out. Cade is sitting on the front step, glaring at me. His elbows are resting on his knees and he’s holding a glass tumbler in his large hands.

There’s an energy about him. He looks dangerous tonight, and well, I’m in the mood for a fight.

As the cab pulls away, I poke the bear. “Waiting up for me, Daddy?” I bat my eyelashes and hike my purse up on my shoulder.

I swear he growls. “It’s late. You could have let me know when you were coming home. It’s still my house you’re living in.”

“I guess I should stay at the main house on the weekends then, just so I don’t inconvenience you,” I snipe back, even though I don’t want to stay at the main house.

I want to stay with him.

“Maybe you should just act like an adult and report back so that I don’t have to worry . . .” he trails off before adding, “about you waking Luke up.”

The fucking balls on this guy.

“Not wanting to wake Luke up is the only reason I’m not reaming you out right now, Eaton. And if we’re going to talk about acting like adults maybe you should text me instead of my best friend.”

He stands, brushing his hands over the ass of his pants—looking annoyingly good as he does—before he turns his back on me. Then he tosses out over his shoulder, “Luke’s with my dad, so you can go ahead and have your tantrum over that if you need to.”

My jaw drops and my voice rises. “You’re worried about me coming home late and waking him up, but he’s not even here?”