He smiles, putting my car in drive. I carefully tuck the guitar into my lap, cradling it like I would a newborn. It’s surprisingly light.
It also needs a strap. Maybe one with Ryder’s name on it? I make a mental note to research where I might get something like that made.
A cozy feeling settles over me. As wired—nervous—as I am, I’m also excited to spend a beautiful evening outside, in front of a fire, with my superhot crush who’s also becoming a really close friend.
The weather is perfect, warmer than it was a few days ago, so I have the windows rolled down. My hair dances in the breeze as we head away from the cabin.
“So where ya takin’ me?” he asks.
I try not to stare as he leans toward me, turning the wheel with the heel of his hand. Why is itsoeffing sexy when a guy drives your car?
“I thought we’d head toward Canyon Creek.” It’s a sweet little spot with some of the best views in all of Hart County.
It’s also super close, maybe three or four miles from here. I don’t want to waste time driving when we could be eating, playing music, or playing with each other.
Ryder nods. “I like this plan.”
“I knew you would.” I clear my throat for what feels like the hundredth time.
Assuming Ryder feels this weird, delicious tension between us, I wonder if he wouldn’t be opposed to exploring ways to relieve it. But I know Colt will absolutely have a shit fit if he finds out I hooked up with his best friend.
Then again,doesColt have to find out? Maybe Ry and I only tell him if things get serious. He won’t love the idea of us dating, but he’ll hate it less than the idea of us having very hot, very casual sex. Because while I’m definitely interested in dating Ryder, I have no idea whathe’slooking for. It could very well be just a hookup. If that’s the case, I feel like telling Colt would just cause a bunch of unnecessary drama.
I’m assuming a lot. But in the universe we live in, you have to think about these things. You don’t survive as a rancher if you can’t rely on your neighbors and friends to be honest and show up for you when you need them.
A betrayal like this might not seem like a big deal to the outside world. But to ours, it can literally be the difference between life and death. If Colt can’t trust Ryder—if he can’t trust me—I’m not sure where that would leave us.
Or maybe I’m just making a mountain out of a molehill. Ryder and I are two consenting adults. What we do behind closed doors is our business, no one else’s.
I think it’s worth the risk. I really do. Because not only is Ryder a good guy, a better friend, and a supersuperhotcowboy. He’s also showing he can change. When his parents died, he shut parts of himself away. Like the part that played the guitar and sang along with me to pop songs. Before the accident, he was lighthearted. Thoughtful. He’d talk to me about everything and anything, never making me feel stupid or silly.
But after he lost his parents, he started responding to my questions with grunts. I’d try to start a conversation, but he would never reciprocate the effort. He just…vanished in a way.
Then I mention that guitar recently, and all of a sudden, he’s playing again.
He’s trying.
I wanna keep drawing out this side of him. What a waste it would be if he kept living half a life, one where he didn’t feelpain, but where he didn’t get to experience joy and love and connection either?
“You likin’ the boots?” His eyes slide down my legs to my feet.
I bite the inside of my bottom lip. “I love them. Thank you again. You really didn’t have to?—”
“But I wanted to.”
If hedoesn’twant me, he sure as hell is making it very confusing as to how he feels about me. Us. Whatever’s happening here.
Do friends do this kind of thing for each other? Buy boots and set up picnics and risk the wrath of a particularly ornery mutual acquaintance just so we can hang out?
Somebody pinch me.I still can’t believe Ryder and I arehanging outon aFriday, just the two of us.
Just because.
Really, just because I had the balls to show up at his place for a second time in a week. I am down bad, and I guess I don’t care who knows it.
Only, I care very much. At least, Ishouldcare. And therein lies the rub.
We park beside a juniper tree and set up camp on top of a nearby ridge, where the Rivers boys and my brothers used to hang out back in the day. There’s a moment when I’m holding one end of the Pendleton blanket I brought and Ryder’s holding the other, and the blanket billows upward on a breeze as we try to set it down on the ground.
