“Still think you should come. Red and Cass are going to be there.”
The only good reason I have for skipping the rodeo is knowing I’m playing with fire by being around Denver. But I can’t say that. Knowing him, the admission would make him try harder to get me to engage in flirtatious banter. And for what? So he can have another fuckboy conquest?
“No, thanks. I should really stay home with Mom.”
“Speaking of which…when are you going to quit denying me my lasagna?”
I roll my neck with an irritated exhale. “Forever, Denver. My mom’s confused, and even though she won’t shut up about you right now, it doesn’t mean we need to do dinner. She’ll forget about it—and you—eventually.”
He leans forward, scooching his chair until he’s practically on top of my desk. “Sounds like I need to come visit her while she still remembers who I am. And if she can’t make her famous lasagna anymore, it’s no big deal. I’ll bring pizza. Friday night at seven?”
“No. I don’t want you coming over to hang out at my house.”
“Well, I’m not coming there for you, Hart. I want to hangout with your mom inherhouse. I’d love to have you join us, but if it makes you too uncomfortable…”
My leg begins to bounce uncontrollably—my stiletto heel tapping against the floor is the only sound in the room for a moment.
“I know what you’re doing,” I finally say.
He raises a questioning brow. “Oh yeah?”
“You’re acting like a sweet, charming guy so you can get another notch in your bedpost. You’re a fuckboy who’s trying to win me over by being kind to my sick mother. I’ll save you the trouble—I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”
He snorts, and those dangerous fucking dimples pull in slowly as a beaming grin spreads across his face. The corners of his eyes crinkle in the dim glow of my desk candle warmer, and he leans in close enough I catch a faint whiff of musky cologne.
Denver Wells wears cologne now?
“Blair, if I were the type to keep notches on my bedpost, we both know yours would’ve been the very first. That’s not what I’m doing here.” He folds his hands on the top of my desk. “Thanks for enlightening me about the kind of person you think I am, though. But you’re wrong—I genuinely want to come visit and make your mom happy. You can be there. You can hide out in your bedroom. You can go out with your friends.”
Side-eyeing him, I think about the genuine smile on Mom’s face when we ran into Denver in the parking lot. She talked about him nonstop for the hour drive home, and even after a full week she’s still bringing him up.
“Why are you so invested in this?”
“Because I’ve lost enough people to know you don’t take shit like this for granted. If your sick mom wants me to come over for dinner, I’m not going to turn her down.”
Fuck.I can’t argue with that.
“Okay…” I sigh. “Okay, you can come over.”
“I’ll come over Friday with pizza. And Saturday you’re coming to the rodeo.” His dark eyes meet mine as he stands, and my stomach flip-flops. I open my mouth to protest it, but he taps his hand on the desk and turns to leave. Looking at me over his shoulder when he reaches the door. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
—
Jonas shifts in the car’s backseat, and I steal a quick glance up at him in my rearview mirror.
“Sorry, kid. Just checking the cameras back at the house because Grandma tripped the door alarm.”
He nods silently, and I continue scrolling through the camera views on my app. When I’m confident she hasn’t left the house and wandered off, I toss my phone into my purse and throw open the car door.
“Okay, let’s be super speedy in the shoe store, please. I have a patient coming at eleven, and we’re already running behind.”
His freckled nose scrunches, and he looks up at me while kicking a rock across the parking lot. “I thought you were hanging out with me all day.”
“I am. But it’s also a weekday, which means I have work I can’t get out of. Unfortunately, drawing a penis on my boss’s office door would earn me a lot more than a two-day suspension.”
He smiles to himself, trying to hold back a laugh—no doubt about the wordpenis.
A rush of frigid air hits us when I open the door to the small, quiet shop. Spotting a kids’ section, I gesture for Jonas to follow me, and we silently peruse the sneaker selection. I clock the employee staring at her phone behind the cash register, but otherwise it’s only us and the haunting voice of Celine Dion in the room.
