“The town needs this rodeo circuit, June. The restaurants, the shops, the motels, everyone counts on rodeo season to get through the rest of the year. If we lose their support, if they take the circuit somewhere else…” He trails off. “Please. Just consider it. It’s only for two or three weeks.”
I press my free hand to my forehead. Three Alphas whose scents cause my carefully suppressed Omega to want to claw her way to the surface. And Pete wants me to chaperone them.
I exhale loudly. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Just let me know soon.”
He hangs up, and I’m left standing in the cold Montana air. This is completely, utterly insane.
I shove the phone into my pocket and hurry down the main street, my mind spinning. It’s almost funny, in a horrible way. Doing Pete a favor is exactly what got me into this mess in the first place.
And now he wants me to dive in deeper.
Three cowboys. Two weeks or more. One secret I’ve been keeping for seven years.
I let out a groan that startles a passing bird.
What the hell am I going to do?
6
JUNE
“Iheard Kai has a piercing somewhere very interesting,” Hazel says, standing there with her pink sunglasses propped up on her head.
I nearly inhale my hot cider wrong. We’re at the Honeyspur Meadow Spring Fair near ourTake A Photo With A Rodeo Starbooth, waiting for the guys to turn up while the event is in full swing.
“Oh my God, where?”
I scan the nearby crowd out of reflex, then snap my attention back to her. Hazel’s grin turns wicked. “Down there.” She flicks two fingers vaguely down her body. “Apparently there’s a whole Reddit thread dedicated to speculation about what these rodeo boys are packing under those Wranglers. And Kai allegedly has some… hardware.”
“You’re telling me there are people online discussing his…”
“Penis jewelry. Yes.” She takes a sip of her drink, unbothered in a way that should be illegal. “There are diagrams.”
“There are not!”
She’s nodding, smirking. “Very detailed ones.” Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh. “Someone did research.”
“Oh, damn.”
Hazel leans in closer to me. “I can show you.”
I gasp, because my body reacts before my brain catches up. “We shouldn’t.”
Hazel is already giggling, fishing her phone out like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “You say that, but your face says you absolutely want to.”
“Haze—”
“Shh. Educational purposes.”
She taps a few times, then tilts the screen toward me. I lean in despite myself, and the two of us press shoulder to shoulder like we’re sharing state secrets. The image that pops up is not a photo. It’s worse.
It’s a drawn sketch.
A very committed, very enthusiastic sketch—hips, thighs, the line of Wranglers pulled low like the artist has a personal vendetta against modesty. And right there, rendered with horrifying confidence, is a Jacob’s ladder.
I stare. Hazel stares. The world narrows to the screen and my own shocked breathing.
