“Eager, aren’t we?”
“Always.” He drops onto the crate, legs spread wide, and angles his face with a look that’s half smolder, half mischief. “How’s this? Good enough for the camera?”
I peer through the viewfinder. He looks like a cologne ad, all sharp cheekbones and bedroom eyes and that tattoo sleeve catching the light.
“You don’t have a bad side,” I admit. “It’s actually annoying.”
“I know. It’s a blessing and a curse.” He adjusts his angle slightly. “Mostly a blessing.”
“How about something that doesn’t look like you’re trying to seduce the lens?”
“But seducing things is my specialty.”
“I’m shocked.”
He grins, and I catch it on camera. “Got what you needed?”
“That’ll do. Next.”
Carter takes his place and gives me a smile that probably devastates women across multiple states. “Any special requests?” he asks.
“Just try not to make the camera fall in love with you.”
“No promises.”
I snap a dozen shots in quick succession. The camera loves him, and he knows exactly how to work it without looking like he’s trying.
“Perfect,” I tell him. “You’re done.”
He stands, and as he passes me, he pauses. “We’ll see you at the fair tonight, then at the photo booth?”
“Yep, for sure,” I say, aiming for noncommittal, though part of me is already slightly excited to spend more time with these rodeo Alphas. Of course, that’s the wrong thing to be admitting to myself when it will only end one way… and that’s with my heart broken.
I wave the next cowboy forward, and one by one, they cycle through. I fall into a rhythm, adjusting angles, coaxing expressions, capturing something real in each face.
And then there’s Seth, who is standing at the edge of the group, arms crossed, watching me with a sharp expression. Those blue eyes are searching for something.
“Your turn,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Have a seat.”
He approaches slowly. Sits on the crate. Doesn’t pose. Just stares at me.
My heart is racing, pounding out of control again.Stop it,I tell myself.Be professional. Be normal.
“You look familiar,” he finally says.
My pulse gives a hard, stupid kick, like my body heard his voice and decided logic could take the day off.
His brow furrows slightly, eyes narrowing the way they do when he’s lining up a ride, focused, searching. “Have we met before? Something about you…”
Yes, I want to say.Last night. You called me your scent match. You fought my ex-boyfriend in the street. You fell asleep telling me you’d remember me.
But the truth tangles in my throat.
What’s the point of handing it to him? He’s staring right through the memory like it’s fogged glass. And even if I forced it back into focus for him… what would it change?
He’s a rodeo star passing through. And he’ll remember when he needs to. I don’t need his kind of complication.
He keeps watching me, waiting, those blue eyes combing my face like he’s hunting for the missing piece.
