“Because if I tell one person, the whole town will find out.”
She scoffs. “I resent that. Don’t lump me in with everyone else. I can keep my mouth shut.”
I rummage through the bag and pop a cheese curd in my mouth, groaning. “God, it’s been forever since I’ve eaten anything this greasy or this delicious.”
She looks up at me sheepishly. “I’m not cutting into anyplans you had with your cowboy, am I?”
I shoot her a blank stare. “He’s notmycowboy.”
“He could be your cowboy if you wanted him to be.”
“Ha. In what world? He’s leaving town in two weeks.”
“In the world where he changes his mind and stays ‘cause he’s in love with you,” she says nonchalantly.
Some things never change. “Always the hopeless romantic.”
She smirks. “Yeah, well, you see how well that’s worked out for me. Maybe I should take a page out of your book for once.”
“Yeah, men really go for the jaded snarky attitude I constantly sport.”
“Seemed to work on Wes.”
“Wes is a special case. He—” I pause, the twisting feeling in my chest makingit hard to speak.
“He what?”
This conversation pushes on a sore spot, giving me that deep, throbbing ache like an old bruise. I clear my throat. “He likes me the way I am.”
“Aw,” she coos.
“Stop,” I grit out as my molars clamp together.
“You like him.” Allie looks at me, all doe-eyed and earnest.
I skewer her with a glare.
“Oh, youreallylike him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, grounding myself with the reminder. “He’s leaving.”
Falling for Wes Dawson would be a very bad idea.
I ignore the part of me that screams it’s too late; I’ve already tripped and am tumbling down that hill, head over boots, but Ican play it cool and enjoy two more weeks of mind-altering sex.
Who knows if I’ll ever find someone who’s this well-suited to wrangling the wildness in me again?
The low rumble of a truck pulling up my driveway makes my stomach do a somersault like I’m some smitten fool.
I amnota fool.
My body just recognizes Wes as its sole provider of orgasms right now, so of course, it’s excited to see him.
We hadn’t planned on seeing each other tonight, but I’m not about to turn away a good time. I make myself walk—not run—to the door. I keep it closed until his boots hit the porch steps. His eyes crinkle inamusement as I fling the door open in nothing but my oversized graphic T-shirt, not waiting for him to knock.
I lean against the door frame and take him in. My eyes roam over his Levi’s, covered in dust, and settle on the green flannel shirt he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His forearms are thick, corded in muscle from the weeks he’s been working on the ranch. I can make out the veins popping as his arms cross over his chest, and I swear I would lick him from elbow to wrist if I thought he wouldn’t find it absurd.
