Page 27 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“I, uh— I’ll let you shower,” I mumbled.

She nodded, stepping under the spray as I grabbed a towel to wipe myself off. I left the bathroom, the sound of the water filling the silence as I closed the door behind me.

What the fuck was that?

No, seriously. What the fuck was that?

That wasn’t just sex. That wasn’t any kind of fuck I’d ever had before. That was . . . everything.

Nothing would ever compare to that. It wasn’t just sex—it was something more, something I couldn’t put into words. She was my religion. Her moans, her soft gasps, the way her hesitation melted into need. The way her body moved with mine, matching every thrust, every motion like she was made for me. When she cried my name, not my nickname, I swear it burned into me, something I’d never forget.

“Fuck,” I muttered, yanking my shirt on.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I never committed to anyone. I was always on the road, so holding a girl down was next to impossible. The girls at the events were enough. There were no strings. At first, I’d thought she’d be the same. Just someone to fuck and forget. A way to burn through this need and walk away.

After this? I was worried I’d never get enough of her. That no one else would ever compare.

A loud knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

“The fuck?” I grumbled, yanking my jeans on, not bothering with the belt as I walked toward the door, fully aware my hair was a mess.

I opened it to find Dalton on the other side, swaying slightly and smelling like a bar bathroom.

“Dude,” I muttered, grabbing the key to the room and stepping out, closing the door softly behind me.

“Oh. Fuck. Yooou getting dicked down?” he slurred, a sloppy grin spreading across his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, glancing back at the door. The sound of the shower still running eased me slightly, but my patience was razor-thin.

Dalton leaned against the wall, barely holding himself up. “Ah, man, I fucked up. I didn’t bring money to the bar, took a rideshare, and forgot to pay. Can I borrow some cash?”

“Dalton,” I snapped, running a hand through my hair. “Seriously? You’re drunk, you’re stupid, and you can’t handle your own shit.”

“Bro. They’re gonna call the cops.”

“Motherfucker. I am with a girl right now.”

“A girl?” His eyes widened in drunken surprise. “Wait. You like her?” His stupid smirk made me want to punch him.

“No. I don’t like her,” I muttered, more to myself than him. I didn’t like her. I couldn’t. My head was betraying me, planting ideas I couldn’t afford to entertain.

Dalton groaned dramatically. “Bro, they’re gonna call the cops if I don’t pay.”

“Fucking hell.” I rubbed my temples. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Dalton stumbled alongside me, his steps unsteady. “Man, I’m gonna have to crash with your dad tonight, aren’t I? ’Cause you’ve got a girl up there and all.”

I nudged him hard enough to make him wobble. “That’s what you get, fucker.”

As we entered the lobby, the scene was already unfolding. An older gentleman stood at the front desk, red-faced and yelling at the staff, his hand gesturing wildly toward the entrance. The poor employee behind the counter looked overwhelmed, her eyes darting nervously.

I walked up as fast as I could when I heard him screaming about a drunk guy in a cowboy hat.

“Hey, sorry about this,” I said, stepping between the man and the desk. “He’s drunk, and he forgot his card. Totally my bad.”

The man turned his glare to me, his voice sharp. “Your bad? I was about to call the cops. Youth today has no responsibilities.”

I held up a hand, nodding. “I get it. I’m handling it now. Here’s my card.” I handed it over. “Charge whatever he owes, and please, let’s call it even.”