I wish I did, Bets. I wish I did.“Trust me. If I had any choice in the matter, I would,” I sigh.
“So, you’re saying you aren’t attracted to Stetson?” Kimber asks, her face in shock at the possibility.
“I’m not delusional, Kimber. Of course I’m attracted to him. What I can’t figure out is how in the hell everyone knows who Stetson Cole is? He’s a cattle rancher in Texas.”
They both laugh hysterically, making my eyes roll with impatience. “Oh, babe. We had no idea who Stetson Cole was before you. I just took the liberty of looking him up once you mentioned him chatting you up at the bar, and immediately relayed the good news to our dear friend Kimber. We’ve done thorough research.”
“And hate to break it to you, Cove, the guy is a stud. Like a modern-day cowboy, with forty-year-old washboard abs, looking for a forever wife. Except, he’s never been seen entertaining anyone,” Kimber adds.
Betsy unlocks her phone and scrolls to her Notes app, opening the first one at the top titledCove’s Biggest Fuckup.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” I mumble, grabbing the phone from her hands and wasting no time reading through her findings.
“I present to you: the research.” Betsy grins.
Stetson Cole - 49-year-old bachelor living in Waterstone, Texas.
Owns Coleson Ranch. Lots of animals and ranch hands on site.
No kids. No wife…no ex-wife. Single bachelor. (undecided green flag?)
No vacation homes. Nothing fancy other than a jet or two to travel (Meets our dear Cove).
Lives on Coleson Ranch alone in a massive estate.
Estimated Net Worth = $400 million.
Jesus Christ. They even completed their little profile of him with a picture. A dirty and horribly attractive shirtless photo.
Cutthroat bitches.
“He has all this money, and you’d never know. Seems like a pretty simple guy,” Kimber notes, and I have to agree.
Everything about my initial judgement of Stetson screamed simplicity. Down to his worn cowboy boots and dark-wash jeans. No one of his caliber would be caught dead leaving the house in anything but their finest.
But not Stetson.Must be the cowboy in him.
“How did you find all this information? And what’s even the point of it?”
“Now, that’s not really an important question, is it?” Kimber says.
Betsy looks at Kimber and grins. “We think you should call him.”
I belt out a laugh. “Good fucking joke.”
They stay silent, waiting for me to keep going, but I’ve got nothing left to contribute. “I’m not calling him, Betsy. You’re insane.” My sights swing to Kimber, finding her with the same expression. “Kimber. Seriously.”
“Why not? He was clearly interested in you. You even said he complimented your eyes and went on with some poetic explanation of how they remind him of cognac,” Betsy adds. “Sounds like one of those fancy people in your books.”
“I hate cognac.”
“And I bet you told him that, didn’t you?” Kimber asks.
I nod confidently. “Sure did. And nothing about it deterred him.”
“And that’s what us smart women call a green flag. Take notes,” Betsy draws out, grabbing me by the hand. “All I’m saying is you should call him. If at all possible, see him again. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
I shake my head repeatedly. “No. I don’t have his number, and besides, I made it clear to him I wasn’t interested. Me flying for him was a one-time thing.”
