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“Do we like this ex?” His fingers pulse on my lower back, and I lean into him, not forgetting the way he stepped up to protect me when Winter’s claws came out. “It’s complicated,” I breathe. “Complicated how?”
“Complicated like we’re very, very over. He’s moved on. But every time he catches wind of me doing the same, he crops back up in some capacity. Like, apparently, he saw a clip on TV of me giving you the thumbs up in Pine Lake and that was enough for him to start sniffing around.”
“That event wasn’t televised. Which means he’s going out of his way to figure out what you’re doing and probably searching the events on YouTube for footage.”
“Shit. That’s . . . creepy.” I blink up at Rhett, who’s opposite hand cups my elbow now, turning me in toward him. “Maybe we should give him something to creep on. Do you think he’s in that car?” The rugged man in front of me smirks in a way that has my entire body humming. “Rather than kissing your magazine pages, you can try out the real thing.” “You’re an idiot,” I mumble, but I also don’t move away.
“I’m finding I don’t really care what people think where you’re concerned.”
It’s when his lips come down, only a hairsbreadth apart, and his knuckles graze my cheekbone that I notice the driver’s side door of Rob’s car shoot open from the corner of my eye. And it’s then that I murmur, “Okay. But this means nothing.”
His hands are possessive on my body. Pulling me tight against him almost aggressively, while cradling my skull so delicately, and kissing me so carefully. He lights me up. He burns me down. And I bask in his heat.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t be kissing this man. This client. I definitely should not be kissing him back. But sometimes being responsible is exhausting, especially in the face of someone as irresistible as Rhett Eaton.
His pinky finger wraps around mine tenderly before he moves his hand to the small of my back, guiding me safely across the road and making my chest flutter.
“We . . . fuck. I don’t know. I’ve told no one except my best friend about this.” “You mean Kip never met him?” The curiosity on his face is blatant. “Well. No. He’s met him.” “Summer, this isn’t a Christopher Nolan film. I don’t deserve to be this confused after giving you the best kiss of your—” “He was my doctor,” I blurt out.
“No. He’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. He performed the corrective heart procedures I had done as a teenager.”
WHAT THE FUCK??? EWWWW
I was just . . . explaining myself, I guess.” Rhett sighs raggedly. “You don’t owe me an explanation. It’s him who should be explaining himself.” He gazes out the window, shaking his head before muttering, “Saw you on TV, my ass.”
Rhett grunts. I bet to him a lot of my family relationships seem awfully complicated. “You deserve so much better, Summer. It’s like you’re so busy forcing yourself to smile and be happy all the time that you don’t even realize when you’re entitled to be pissed off.”
Summer: Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m at the staff meeting. I trust you to hold it together for one afternoon. Rhett: Shit, Princess. I don’t know. I might go crazy without you. Summer: For ducks’ sake. Summer: Duck Summer: *Duck Summer: FUCK. Ugh. Why can’t my phone learn that word? I’ll be back around dinnertime. Rhett: Quack.
When Cade mentioned the Jansens parked their tractor and tilling machine on our property—again—Beau hatched a plan that only someone with his level of maturity could.
The Jansens don’t have a great reputation in town, they never have. If there’s trouble, it’s one of the Jansen boys. In the back of a police car, selling drugs, stealing shit, you name it. I don’t think they’re actually that scary, more just . . . well, like Cade said—trash.
Most of my pranks concerning the Jansens have been limited to opening their chicken coop or sneaking around and cutting the twine on their bales of hay. Did I put sugar in their gas tank once? I’ll never tell. Basically, general shit-disturbing farm-boy behavior as a child.
Cade grunts. I know he has a soft spot for Bailey. There’s something about a baby sister that gets all three of us right in the chest.
At my age, I should not be this giddy over toilet papering the neighbor’s tractor. But here we are.
She gets it. For all she’s been through, she understands my drive to succeed. To persevere. To not be a victim of my circumstances.
I look up just in time to see her riding on my mount, in a flowy white dress and fucking snakeskin boots. If her face was a little more Please fuck me, sir and a little less I’m going to kill you, I’d be hard at the mere sight of her.
“That.” She points at the tractor. “Oh. That. That’s just my brothers and I blowing off some steam.” She halts the horse in front of me, body swaying gently with the horse beneath her. “That”—she points again—“is how three men in their thirties blow off some steam? Why can’t you just be a normal male idiot and make me endure chasing you around while you try to fuck all the buckle bunnies?”
And then, she pats the expanse of the horse’s back behind the saddle while lifting one leg up to offer me the stirrup. “Get up, you big idiot.” “You making me ride bitch, Princess?” I wedge a boot in the stirrup and swing myself up a little awkwardly. “If the shoe fits,”
She seems out of breath, just like the poor horse we’re riding. “What did you do? Gallop into battle?” “Not before reaming your brothers out. But yeah, I didn’t know what kind of trouble you’d be in. If you’d need help.” She was rushing to help me. To be there for me.
Summer clears her throat. “Well, Cade just crossed his arms and glared at me. Beau looked like a kicked puppy. Oh, and I think your dad and Luke might have peed their pants from laughing so hard.”
She’s relaxed with me, and I get off on that.
Yeah, no. I was pretty good before my heart problems worsened. It’s how I met my best friend, Willa. It’s also why I should have known riding in this dress would have pinched my thighs to shit.”
I lean down and whisper into her ear, “Well, your chivalry is not lost on me,” which earns me a firm elbow in the ribs. “Your stupidity is not lost on me. If you’d been caught, I’d be the one in shit. I’d be letting people down.”
I wish I’d been here to see Summer go off on them. Her caretaker side is strong. But as much of a people pleaser as she might be, she has this vicious streak. This protective streak. And I fucking live for that.
When she finally comes into sight, my breath freezes in my lungs. She’s a vision in a billowing white dress, cinched tight around her waist, and tall boots. Toned thighs make the odd appearance through the slit in the skirt.
Summer gives so much of herself. Her dad. Her sister. Her stepmom. Everyone she meets. Me. But who the fuck is taking care of Summer?
“I’m sorry I made your job harder today.” I say it, and I mean it. “I’ve spent so long fending for myself that it honestly just felt like a way to have some fun. I’m, well, I’m not accustomed to accounting for someone else.” It’s a sobering realization. I’m a man who’s been living his day-to-day life for what feels good, with little regard for those around me.
“Tell me what you want, Summer.” Our lips are so close, facing off in some sort of game without even touching. “If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
I’m . . . I’m trying to keep this relationship professional. I need to keep this relationship professional if I’m going to work in this industry. I can’t manage athletes if I’m hooking up with them. You need to find someone else to play this game with.” That last sentence is a slap to the face. Partly because she thinks all I want from her is some cheap hookup,
Summer: I almost kissed the cowboy again. *Willa Calling*
“Wait. So, you didn’t kiss him?” Willa sounds horrified by the prospect.
“Godspeed to the man who tries to tell Willa Grant what to do.”
“Not a morning person, Cade?” I ask, knowing that I’m poking the bear and not really caring. He could use some poking.
I head toward the hallway but stop when I hit the archway, grabbing it and tapping my fingers against it before I turn to face the two men in the kitchen. “You know, it’s not my place to say, but you should know that what Rhett is doing, he’s doing for you. For this place.”
My stomach sinks for him. He’s so much harder on himself than anyone realizes. He does this showmanship thing so well and has everyone around him convinced he’s much happier than he actually is. Much healthier too.
I bought myself a pair of light wash Wranglers this morning from one of the vendors on site and, clearly, Rhett approves. They aren’t the beautiful custom chaps I was eyeing at the last event, but at least I stick out less like a sore thumb in these jeans and my new WBRF tee which is printed with a longhorn skull. Plus, paired with the lacy bright red underwear I’ve got on under them, and my snakeskin boots, I feel like some sort of western-chic bombshell.
Last time, watching him get ready to ride excited me. Riveted me. But today I’m antsy. I’m not sure what’s changed in the past few weeks. All I know is that watching him climb up onto a bull feels different tonight. It feels like my heart is pounding so hard that it’s drilled its way right down into my stomach, my entire torso now thrums with the rush of adrenaline.
And when they call out his score of 91, I stand up and cheer. I do my loud whistle, except this time, it blends in with the crowd’s cheering. His eyes find me anyway, and I laugh, surrounded by the cheers of the people he thought he’d alienated. I hope he soaks this up. He deserves it.
I watch him leave the ring, fringes of his chaps shaking, shoulders slumped—even though he has the buzz of the crowd firmly in hand. And I ask myself, if this were my last moment on earth, would I go happy? The answer is, I’d go full of regrets. I’d go knowing I’ve done everything in my power to make everyone else around me happy, but failed to deliver that same treatment to myself.
