“Hi, Country Boy,” she whispers. I should hate the nickname—hate what it does to me. How it carves me into fucking pieces, making my heart still and sped up at the same time. “Hi.” I stroke the sweaty hair off her brow. My chest hitches. Up close, guard down, she’s stunning. “I’ll carry you,” I say, snapping out of the hungry trance. She giggles and lifts her arms. “Carry away.”
