It’s when I stop counting that things start getting hazy.
For her, too, apparently.
She wears a long, flowy floral dress in shades of green and purple with a soft, knitted emerald shrug, and cowboy boots. Too fancy and embroidered for outdoor work, but I appreciate the country nod.
Her hair brushes my shoulder, silky and soft. And her perfume invades my senses all over again—nectar and roses, seductive and velvety.
Scarlett’s eyes lift to the white Stetson on my head like she’s not quite used to it. Then, they drop to my belt buckle for a fraction of a second before I catch her.
Her cheeks turn red as apples, and she looks away.
“Got it in team roping,” I say, resting my ankle over my other knee. I’m not used to having enough breathing room on planes let alone leg room.
“So, you rodeo?” she asks breathlessly.
I shrug. “Local events. Nothing big. Tough to get around in Rough & Ready Country.”
“I don’t even know how to ride a horse,” she confesses like it’s a crime.
“That’s okay,” I answer with a wink. “Always time to learn.”
She pauses for a moment as if she doesn’t know what to do with that. Then, she slurs, “Maybe with a little liquid courage. We’ll be sloshed by the time we arrive.”
She says it like it’s a joke, laughing beside me. Like she doesn’t already know what this feels like—sitting too close to a man she shouldn’t want.
Or maybe I’ve got it all backwards. Maybe it’s me sitting next to a woman I could only have in my dreams.
She did bid on you, dumbass.
Apparently, the booze hasn’t impaired my critical inner voice.
Her shoulder brushes mine as she talks animatedly. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
Scarlett is all sunshine—loud, enthusiastic. Like she doesn’t just live life, she tastes it.
She’s everything I’m not. But she doesn’t treat me like I’m too quiet or boring.
That’s new for me. Feels different.
“Does that getaway of yours include transportation?” I ask, working hard to sound sober. That’s how I know I have a problem.
She tugs at her shirt, lifting it just enough to get the air flowing.
My eyes drop before I can stop them. Mistake. Now I can’t unsee it, and God help me, I don’t want to.
“I can’t remember the last time I let go like this,” she giggles.
“Me, either,” I say, thinking back to shift after shift at the station.
“And we’re not even off the plane.”
“Have to pace ourselves then,” I say, but it’s already too late for that.
Too late for a lot of stuff. I’m in uncharted territory. I’m always the guy who volunteers. Takes overtime. Stays steady and serious. Because liking alone time doesn’t mean I like being lonely.
As if reading my mind, she says, “I don’t usually notice men like you.”
“Men like me. What does that mean?”
