I really, really don’t.
“He’s just . . .” I shake my head. “Different than I expected. Quiet. Sweet in ways no one would believe. He listens to the things I don’t say.”
“And he’s built like a thirst trap,” Briar adds.
“And unfortunately, veryveryhot,” I mutter. “Which isn’t helping me make smart decisions.”
Harlowe nudges my knee with hers. “Sounds like you already know what you want.”
She’s right, of course.
Maybe the real problem is that I’m confused, but I know exactly what I want and understand the cost.
The kitchen door swings open before I can answer.
Every coherent thought leaves my body.
Emmett steps inside shirtless, sweat and grease catching across hard muscle as he drags his shirt over his face.
My friends look unbearably smug and now I might actually hate them.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He smirks, and I shift on the couch.
“Hey, Emmett.” Briar wiggles her finger at him. “You’ve been ignoring Denver’s?—”
“Your husband.” Harlowe coughs.
Briar rolls her eyes. “Myhusband’sinvitation to come over for horseshoes.”
“I told you, group settings aren’t really my thing.”
“Oh, that’s adorable. In a town this small, people are gonna come looking for you either way. Better to socialize on your own terms.”
“No,” Emmett deadpans, but there’s a playful glint to his eyes that only makes Briar smile back brighter at him.
Next to me, Sloane smiles. “Don’t worry, I won’t peer pressure you. I know what it’s like to be new in town.”
Watching my friends induct Emmett into the fold makes the warmth in my cheeks spread to my sternum. He could have a happy life here if he wanted—if he’d let himself have it.
He shifts his attention to Harlowe. “Good to see you again, Commander.”
“Slate. Glad to see you stuck around.”
At that, Emmett ducks his head. “I just need a shower, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Just the mention of the shower has the heat swirling lower and sinking like a lead ball in my core, too heavy to ignore. And that’s the defense I’ll mount if anyone calls me on the words that slip from my lips.
“As dirty boys do.”
Sloane buries her laugh in her shoulder, and Emmett lifts an eyebrow at me as he passes the back of my couch.
My eyes widen.
“Well,” I mutter into my drink. “That was supposed to stay inside my head.”
It’s true what they say—nothing solves problems like girl talk and margaritas. Not that I’ve ever heard anyone say that, but it still rings true.
“Don’t drown in there, Hotshot,” Briar calls after him. “One shower-related emergency is all our girl can handle.”
