“Why do I feel like I’m not gonna like any of them?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Because you’re an ornery cowboy.”
“I’m not ornery.”
Both Bryce and Charli laugh.
Rude fuckers.
Charli begins counting on her fingers. “Option one: You move back in with Boone and Irene until your cabin is fixed.”
I immediately shake my head. “Nope.”
I love my parents. But the last thing I want to do is spend the summer under their roof. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old man, and I like my space.
Bryce nods. “Fair.”
Charli continues, “Option two: You bunk with Royce.”
I stare. “Hell no.”
She places a hand on her hip and glares at me. “Why not? It’s only next door.”
“No,” I repeat.
“It won’t be for long,” she continues.
I throw my arms out wide. “Look at me, Charli. Do I look like I’ll fit in a queen bed with another grown-ass man?”
Charli bites her lip.
Bryce looks away.
Both are trying not to laugh.
I point at them. “Assholes.”
Royce and I have shared enough motel rooms during rodeo season to last a lifetime. We’ve spent weeks crammed into tiny spaces. One bathroom. One television. One coffee maker. One farting, scratching, snoring brother.
I don’t need that experience recreated at home. Especially if this repair drags on.
Charli grins. “So, that’s a hard no?”
“Very hard.”
“Noted.” She raises a third finger. “Option three: The only empty cabin is on the other side of the academy, next to the clinic.”
I consider it. It’s farther from the training pens and arenas, but it should only be an extra ten to fifteen-minute walk in the morning.
“It’s fully furnished?” I ask.
“Yep. Same as these. Though they are a little closer together.”
“How close?”
“You aren’t sharing a wall, but your big ass probably can’t walk between them,” she says.
“Got it. Keep the television volume down. No problem.”
