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We don’t look at each other as we walk, but he touches my shoulder gently and gestures me across his body. He moves me to the opposite side of him before taking up position by the road.
Rhett told me earlier that he drew a good bull, and when I asked what that means, a slightly psychotic expression came over his face as his lips stretched into a toothy grin. “It means he’s going to want to kill me, Princess.” Princess. The fifteen-year-old in me fainted on the spot, because this time it didn’t have the bite of an insult.
There’s something about a man who is damn good at what he does that holds an appeal for me.
“You know, Princess,” he rasps, and I should hate that goddamn nickname, borne of mocking me for being who I am, but suddenly it feels like a shot straight to my core. Like praise. Like worship. “I’m finding I don’t really care what people think where you’re concerned.”
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.
I drop my head in her direction, blocking some of the onlookers out with the brim of my own hat. “You want me to lick whipped cream off you, Princess?” Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip as her eyes peruse my body in the hungriest way. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“Away from Emmett. Before he tells you about the cowboy hat rule.” I scoff. “What the hell is the cowboy hat rule?” “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.”
He’s killing me with all this talking. Having to say things out loud is firmly outside my comfort zone. For a man who’s never been huge on chatting, he sure has a lot to say once my clothes come off.
“Such a pretty fucking princess,” I muse, letting a grin touch my lips. “And do you know where pretty princesses belong, Summer?” “Where?” Her voice is soft, but thick. I point to the hardwood floor below me. “On their knees.” Her eyes widen, but her lips roll together to hide a hungry smile. My girl likes it when I talk to her like this.
“Again.” “Princess, I need a second. You should see how you look from here.”
“But I want to make one thing clear. I am not possessive. I am protective. And I’ll never stop protecting you. I’d hit that fucker again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping him from talking to you that way.”
“Oh, yeah? Pray tell, bestie. Where are we going? Mexico? Ooh. A weekend in Paris? We can drink wine by the Eiffel Tower.”
then I’m off, swinging a leg over the fence. “Eaton! What you doing?” one of the coaches calls out to me as I drop onto the landing and toss my helmet, reaching for my favorite brown hat instead. “I’m done.” “You’re what?” The guy looks genuinely fucking confused. “Consider this my retirement notice. I’m out. That bull gets a night off.” And I live to breathe another day. That part is pretty important too.
Choosing each other. Finding each other. Showing up for each other. And everything about the moment is flawless.
It was fun. But I miss my girl something fierce.
Life has never been better. Work. Family. House. Truck.
