"Bullshit. You're not calling anyone." He laughs, but there's an edge to it that makes my skin crawl. "You think they're gonna give a shit? You came here willingly. You were drinking. You were all over me."
I wasn't all over him. I was being polite. But he's right about one thing. Small-town cops aren't exactly known for taking drunk girls at parties seriously.
My phone buzzes.
**Boone: 5 minutes.**
Five minutes feels like forever when there's a locked door between you and a man who won't take no for an answer.
I try to steady my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The way my mom taught me when I was little and having anxiety attacks about stupid kid things. God, I miss her. She'd know what to do. She always knew what to do.
Then again, if she were still alive, I probably wouldn't be in this situation at all. I'd be traveling like I always planned. Seeing the world. Finding myself or whatever the fuck people say when they're trying to escape their small-town lives.
Instead, I stayed. Took care of her after Dad died. Watched her fade away from grief and cancer. Then when she finally followed him, I just... stayed. Because leaving felt wrong. Because I'd lost my momentum. Because somewhere along the way, I'd given up on my dreams and settled for survival.
And survival in Blackwater Falls means bartending at the saloon, serving drinks to the same people every night, going to shitty parties because my friends insist I need to "get out more," and apparently locking myself in bathrooms while drunk assholes try to force their way in.
Living the dream.
Jason hits the door again, and I hear wood crack.
"Five minutes," I whisper to myself. "Just five more minutes."
I think about Boone to calm myself down. It's pathetic, but it works. I've been doing it for years: using thoughts of him as a security blanket, a comfort, a fantasy that makes reality a little more bearable.
I still remember the exact moment I stopped seeing him as just Colt's brother and started seeing him as... *Boone*. I was nineteen. Home from my disastrous single semester at community college because Mom had just been diagnosed and Dad's life insurance had run out. Colt had dragged me to the ranch to distract me from everything falling apart.
It was summer. Hot as hell. Boone was in the corral working with a new horse. This gorgeous chestnut mare who'd been abused and wouldn't let anyone near her. He was shirtless, sweatglistening on all those ridiculous muscles, talking to her in that low, gentle voice he uses with animals.
And I just... stopped. Stared. Felt something trembling in my chest that had nothing to do with grief or fear or loss and everything to do with pure lust.
He turned and caught me looking. Held my gaze for exactly three seconds. I counted, before giving me this tiny smile and going back to the horse.
I went home that night and touched myself thinking about him for the first time. It definitely wasn't the last.
Colt knows about my pathetic crush. Has known for years. He thinks it's hilarious and loves to torture me about it, but he's also sworn on his life he'll never tell Boone. Because Colt might be a pain in my ass, but he's also my best friend and he knows how mortifying it would be if Boone found out.
Not that Boone would care. I've caught him looking at me maybe half a dozen times over the years. Quick glances that never lasted more than a second, always followed by him looking away like he'd done something wrong. He probably barely registered my existence beyond "that girl who used to hang out in our basement with Colt."
Which is fine. Totally fine. I don't need Boone Sullivan to see me as anything other than his little brother's friend. I definitely don't need him to know I've spent countless nights fantasizing about what those big hands would feel like on my curves, or what that gentle voice would sound like whispering dirty things in my ear, or whether he'd be as patient and thorough in bed as he is with everything else.
Nope. Don't need any of that.
"NIKKY!"
The door shudders in its frame. Jason's really losing his shit now.
My phone buzzes.
**Boone: Pulling up now. Stay put.**
Thank God. Thank every god. Thank the universe and fate and whatever cosmic force made me call the right person.
"You're dead when I get in there, you cock-teasing bitch!" Jason shouts.
Yeah, okay. That's enough of that.
"Someone's coming to get me," I call through the door, trying to sound braver than I feel. "He'll be here any second. You should probably leave."
