I don’t know how long I stare. But the gorgeous cowboy from town, the very person who paid for my tank of gas, clutches a towel low on his hips, pinning me with a murderous expression. Nothing makes sense in my mind. Why is he here? What the fuck is going on? He’s got the door gripped so tight in one hand that I can see white ridges on his knuckles, and he looks about one second from slamming it in my face. We both seem to be caught in some kind of limbo, staring at each other while our minds try to make sense of this situation. His forehead is creased in a way that tells me this is not a
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