Chapter 12
Hadley
Yesterday has nothing on this morning. Happiness-studded green eyes meet mine as I wake. I roll over onto my back, remembering I’m naked.
Fuck.
Then I remember why I’m lying right in front of Maggie’s van door... After hearing three guys at the bar planning on how they were going to rock up to the hot little photographer’s van and show her a good time, I stalked my way back and planted myself at my post.
Small-town fuckers who hit the rodeo when it rolls around, thinking they’re tough guys because they wear boots and a cowboy hat for a night.
Fucking losers.
Rain—well, mist, really—seeps through the leafy canopy and falls over my face and chest. I groan, rubbing my face with my hands. “What time is it?”
“Time to get up. I brought you breakfast, bud.”
Bud.
Yeah, hell no.
After seeing her in the arena and the prime target of the bull I was just spurring into a frenzy, something literally snapped forme yesterday. I’ve only been in her orbit for twenty-four hours, and my life is already better for it.
Night and fucking day.
Like there is onlybefore Maggieandafter Maggie. And I want—no, I am desperate to stay put in the middle of those two. I can’t help the protective streak that’s flared to life along with it. But I’m not an idiot, I know this shit needs to take its time.
As far as I see it, we have another eight months, give or take, of this circuit and her contract. I’m not going to waste a second of it.
“You want to come inside?”
Her words snap me from my little TED Talk—topic, “The Epic Tale of Maggie & Hadley.”
God, this is why I don’t do relationships. It’s barely been a day since I cottoned on to these feelings and already, I’m a basket case.
When I don’t reply, she turns back and picks up a tray. “I bought you man food.”
“Urgh, smells amazing. Bu?—”
“But . . . ?”
“You might want to turn around.”
“Oh! Sorry.” A blush blooms over her cheeks as she places the tray on the top step. She wraps the cardigan around her chest and turns away. I throw the covers back and pull on my boxers. The van is still veiled by the green weeping willow curtain, so I’m out of sight of other people.
Sliding my jeans up and tugging on a shirt, I make a haphazard effort of making my bedroll to keep out the damp and clear my throat.
Maggie glances over her shoulder before stepping into the van, carrying the food inside. I duck and still manage to smack my head on the low door opening. She sets the tray down, placing something wrapped on my side of her tiny table. She sitson her bed, and I’m handed the small stool she slides out from under the bunk.
I let my weight settle on the plastic hourglass-shaped stool, and it groans. Maggie pushes a coffee across the table to me, and it’s suddenly intimate and domesticated.
Like we could start every day like this.
“Not hungry?” Her words snap me from my daze.
Fuck.
I tear my gaze from her, realizing I’ve been staring instead of being a decent guest.
