Is the girl in the teeny-tiny shorts and tall boots a mirage, or is she actually waving me down? She’s too damn adorable to possibly exist in real life.
She’s also wearing a sling, her other arm tucked against her chest.
I’m tired as shit, so it’s entirely possible I’ve started imagining things. Probably time to quit for the day.
But judging by the way my dick perks up, the girl is very real, and I very much want to say hello.
Which is a problem.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Billie,” I murmur as I cut the engine. “What the hell are you doing here?”
But watching her head toward me, I still throw open the door. I still smile and say, “You know the rules, little lady. No one rides for free.”
“Of course I know the rules.” She holds up the plate she’s carrying. “Why do you think I brought treats?”
The motion of her straightening her arm over her head really pushes her tits out. Arethosethe treats?
My immediate reaction is to try to erase that thought from my head. Usually I can tamp shit like this down no problem. Now, though, my effort to thinkfriendly, safethoughts hits a snag.
The idea that these feelings are ‘friendly’ is a lie, and you know it.
I could politely but firmly suggest Billie head back home. That’s what I would’ve done before that night at the rodeo. But now…
I don’t wanna numb this shit that I’m feeling. Maybe because that accident has me thinking a lot about how short—precious—life can be, and I wonder if I’m wasting it by just surviving my days. Because that’s what I’ve been doing by holding everyone and everything at arm’s length.
If I’m being honest, part of me has been waiting three long weeks for Billie to show up. I contemplated driving over to the Wallace Ranch to check on her, but that felt a step too far.
I’d started to think she wasn’t gonna come see me at all. Now that she’s here, I’m not about to spend another night working alone, tryingnotto think about her or the things she made me feel that night at the rodeo.
A little flirting never hurt anyone, right?
Shifting in my seat, I lean an elbow on my knee and clear my throat. “What kinda treats we talkin’ about?”
“The kind you’re gonna like.”
Kill me now.
She stands beside the tractor’s front left wheel, looking tiny next to the seven-foot-tall behemoth.
Squinting, she looks up at me. “So you gonna ask me to come up there or what?”
“Billie Wallace, we both know you’re coming whether I ask you to or not.”
Her lips twitch. “That’s awful cocky of you, thinking you could make me?—”
“What?” Fuck, I’m still smiling.
Worst of all, Ilikethat I’m smiling at her like a big, dumb goofball.
I can’t flirt with Billie like this anymore. Have our interactions always been so…inappropriate, or is this something new?
How do I not know the answer to that question?
“You’re cocky thinking that you could make me do anything I didn’t want to.” She holds my gaze with the confidence of someone who knows she’s won.
Oh, darlin’, you’d best believe you’d want me to make you come.
Hell, give me a minute, less than that, and I’d have you begging for it.
