Maybe…
Nice work keeping things professional, Cove.
Mr. Cole:
Excellent. Favorite color?
Oh, Jesus wept.
Yellow. But why are you asking?
Mr. Cole:
Don’t worry about it. See you soon.
What in the actual hell was that?Stetson got my number…from my boss…then apologized for overstepping…but not enough to really be sorry.
And I’m not the slightest bit bothered by it.
“Ready!” Betsy shouts, interrupting my thinking.
I spin to face her, phone in hand, with what’s likely a look of confusion on my face. “Yeah. Let’s go,” I mumble.
“Whoa. You look like someone stole your pet bunny.”
I’m not sure why I feel so thrown off. I never expected to hear from Stetson again. See him at the airport in passing? Sure. But I guess I never took him wanting toactuallysee me again that seriously.
“Stetson just texted me,” I deadpan, outwardly emotionless, but internally buzzing.
Her eyes shoot open. “Oh my god. Finally. I was wondering when you’d hear from him again. No man that interesting lets a good thing like Cove Davenport go.”
She’s so dramatic.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, drama. He said he wants to see me.” At this point, Betsy is shoving my body toward the door while I try to turn my astonished brain back on.
Wake the fuck up, Cove. Get it together.
“Amazing,” she draws out, reaching for the door handle and swinging it open. “And you should. Then have lots of hot cowboy sex.”
Except, I can’t respond because there’s Stetson Cole. All six-foot huge of him, dressed to the nines, soft blue eyes sparkling at me across the threshold of our penthouse.
“Hot cowboy sex? Never heard that one before.” His deep voice penetrates the space between us, making Betsy mumble a string of profanities.
I freeze, motionless, but I’m positive my cheeks are red, and my eyes are huge in shock. “You,” I comment calmly.
“Me.” He grins and holds out a bouquet of yellow and orange wildflowers. And these aren’t your typical grocerystore flowers. They’re the kind you purchase from a local flower stand on the side of a busy street corner, each stem intentionally picked and wrapped in twine.
A bouquet of thoughtfulness.
“Cowboy Stetson,” Betsy marvels. “What a surprise. How lovely of you to stop by. And in Miami of all places.”
He hands me the flowers, grinning from ear to ear as I bring them to my nose to inhale. They smell wonderful, but I don’t tell him that. I’m still too stunned.
Maybe I do look like someone stole my pet bunny.
“We were just leaving,” I blurt, only to be kicked in the back of the leg by Betsy. “I have a date. We have a double date,” I stutter.
“You do?” His brows rise, clearly amused by the thought. “That’s a shame. He’s a lucky guy.” I don’t miss the way he looks me up and down, eyes taking their time examining me. Maybe undressing me is a better word.
