“Stop with the bad thoughts. You’re better than this,” I mumble to myself.
Sam has made it clear he does not want me. Unless he’s highly intoxicated and grieving his last blood relative’s death, I’mlike a sister to him.
The familiar mortification from the boat incident trickles through my mind, turning the contents of my stomach sour. I force the memory away.
If I can just ignore him, these next two weeks will fly by without a hitch. I’ll be fine. I won’t bat my eyelashes or picture him naked on top of me. I won’t fantasize about him inviting me into that big king-size wood-framed bed I imagine he sleeps in, and I certainly won’t read into things, like him pressing his knee into mine or pulling me onto his lap when there’s nowhere else to sit and giving me a mind-shattering orgasm.
And I will go on dates with men. As many as I want.
The fact that Ben hasn’t texted me causes a knot to form in the pit of my stomach. I huff out an exasperated sigh as I grab my phone, perusing through my social media feed for a few minutes to drown out the noise of the waves of loneliness and rejection washing over me.
An ad for a dating app pops up on my feed. It’s a picture of an attractive, smiling couple, holding hands across from each other at a table in a nice restaurant.
Find your missing half with Soulties. Match with like-minded singles today.
I impulsively click on the ad to download the app. I’ve never tried a dating app because in a small town, I already know everyone. But meeting Ben opened my eyes to the fact that when men do move to town or even come to visit people, I could be missing out on my chance to meet someone who could make me forget all about my fruitless childhood crush on my asshole babysitter.
I input all my basic information before uploading a photo of myself from last Easter. I was wearing a long dress with my haircascading in waves around my shoulders, the sun setting in the background bathing me in an orange and pink hue. I add in a few more photos of me cooking, reading, and riding a horse to complete my profile.
I expect to be rerouted to the page where I can browse through potential candidates, but instead, a message pops up, telling me that I have to complete a detailed questionnaire and personality test.
“Why is this taking so long?” I grumble.
I roll out of bed, deciding I need coffee before continuing on my quest for love. My pajamas are soft cotton shorts and a matching tank top in a pale yellow. I could put a bra on to save Sam from having to see my nipples, but I don’t see why I should be inconvenienced this early in the morning for his comfort.
I’m tapping out answers for the questionnaire as I patter down the stairs toward the kitchen. I don’t see any sign of Sam, aside from the half-full coffeepot on the worn butcher block countertop. I find a plain black coffee mug in the cabinet above it and a full collection of flavored coffee creamers in the fridge.
“Sea salt caramel, pumpkin spice, sweet cream, hazelnut, and French vanilla?” I mumble, reaching for the hazelnut.
I add it to my coffee and make my way out to the back porch that wraps around the house. The sun is streaming over the set of four vintage white rocking chairs. I sit in one, surprised at how comfortable it is.
In the distance, I can see a herd of cattle with riders on horseback around them. The green fields stretch on for hundreds of yards before oak and cedar trees start dotting the landscape, lining the fences and separating the pastures. The day will heat up soon, but for now, the cool breeze dances across my skin and causes my nipples to perk up and goose bumps to prickle my skin.
My attention dips back to my phone and the growing irritation at how many questions I’m having to answer just to browse through a few single men.
Rosie’s name pops up on my screen as a call comes through, and a wave of relief bolts through me. I swipe to answer it.
“Wow, so you haven’t forgotten me,” I say, sipping the coffee as I put her on speakerphone and set the device on the coffee table.
The rich flavor bursts on my tongue. I pull back in surprise. Sam must really splurge on his coffee beans.
Rosie snorts. “You left my house less than twelve hours ago. And I have your location.” One of her twin toddlers screams in the background.
“You sat there and didn’t speak up about how cosmically horrible this plan was, and I feel betrayed.”
I didn’t even realize it until this moment, but I am upset with Rosie. She’s known about my crush on Sam for forever, and she should have realized that I needed someone else to stand up for me against this ridiculous plan.
“Dolls, you know I wanted to, but the guys had their minds made up before you even got there. Of course you can still pack up and come stay in my guest room, but honestly, I’m worried about this whole thing. Holden isn’t prone to paranoia, and he’s not leaving me and the girls for a second right now unless Duke or Cash can step in. I thought you going to Sam’s would be easier for you and less restrictive. Plus, I thought you were getting over him. Think of it as exposure therapy.”
I take another sip of the incredibly delicious coffee. “I am getting over him. You know what? Scratch that. I’m already over him. I went on a date, and I downloaded a dating app this morning.”
Speak of the devil, Sam decides to take that moment to start walking toward the house from the barn. His pale blue T-shirt isdotted with sweat on his wide chest, and his worn-out Wranglers are draped over the top of brown leather cowboy boots. He removes the straw cowboy hat from his head, wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm. His rusty-brown curls are damp and sticking up as he runs his hand through them before placing the hat back on his head.
The movement causes his shirt to ride up, showing just the barest hint of his taut abdomen. I feel like the world moves in slow motion as I watch the bicep of his left arm bulge and contort with the movement of his hands twisting around the rope he’s slowly looping into a circle.
My jaw is somewhere in the vicinity of my knees by the time he gets to the porch and looks up at me with his ocean-blue eyes. I try to recover quickly, leaning back against the rocking chair and looking away from his godlike beauty before I start drooling.
Over my crush or not, that man is fine as fuck.
