Page 56 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I shot him a sharp look, cutting him off. “Finish that sentence and then tell me if it’s within our friendship boundary.”

He threw up his hands in mock surrender, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. You’re right.”

Beau stood up from the bed and walked over to the dresser. As he opened one of the drawers, a glint of gold, silver, and bronze caught my eye. Curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered over to take a closer look.

When I saw it—an entire drawer packed full of belt buckles in every size, color, and shape—I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach.

“It’s like a jewelry drawer that women have,” I managed between fits of giggles.

Beau’s mouth dropped open, his expression one of mock disgust. “Don’t you dare start making fun of my belt buckles,” he said, pointing at me as if I’d personally offended him.

“I’m just saying.” I wiped my eyes. “This is . . . this is incredible. I didn’t know cowboys had accessory collections.”

“Accessories?” he repeated, as if the word burned his tongue. “These are trophies, baby. Every one of these is a win.”

“Oh, my bad,” I said, holding my hands up, still grinning. “Your trophy drawer. Much more dignified.”

“Careful,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip, “or you’ll never know the feeling of a belt buckle pressing against the inside of your thigh.”

My laughter cut off instantly, the image flashing in my mind before I could stop it. The weight of his body, the scrape of denim against bare skin, and the cool, solid press of that belt buckle against the sensitive inside of my thigh as I grinded . . .

“Ah,” I shouted, shaking my head as if that would clear the thought. “Beau. Enough. Friendship,” I managed to stammer, barely getting the word out as I turned away from him.

He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re the one making it weird.”

“I am not,” I snapped.

I could still feel the heat spreading through me, and I needed to get out of there before I gave anything else away.

“Sure you’re not,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement as he leaned casually against the dresser like he hadn’t just wrecked my composure with one stupid line.

With a sigh, he straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Alright, alright. You’re right. I’m crossing a line. How about I make us some lunch, and then I’ll drive you back so you don’t have to walk before we head to Roger’s tonight?”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide my triumphant smile. “Fine. But you better make something good.”

He shook his head as he headed for the door. “Deal and if those pants fall off, don’t blame me for enjoying the view.”

My eyes widened, and before I could think, I grabbed a pillow off the bed and chucked it at him with everything I had.

“Beau,” I yelled.

He ducked, laughing so hard he had to brace himself on the doorframe. “What? I’m just being honest. Consider it a compliment.”

I grabbed another pillow, but he held up his hands, his grin somehow getting bigger.

Heat crept up my neck. “You are impossible.”

He winked and gestured toward the stairs. “Get your cute little ass downstairs before I say something else that’ll make you throw the whole bed at me.”

I rolled my eyes as he made his way to the kitchen, his boots thudding down the stairs while his laughter echoed. I shook my head, still grinning, but I didn’t follow him—not yet.

My gaze drifted back to the wall, to Beau frozen in a hundred moments of chaos and control. In one picture, his hand gripped the rope tight, muscles straining, while the other hand shot high in the air.

Fearlessness.

That was the answer to all this, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just about riding bulls or living on a ranch—it was about facing whatever came next without hesitating, without holding back.

I needed to be more . . . fearless.