Page 79 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

The interviewer stepped forward, handing him the oversized check, and Beau held it up for the crowd, flashing that goddamn smile.

“Tell us, how does this win feel?”

Beau tilted his head, rolling his shoulders back, and let out a slow, satisfied exhale. “Feels about right, don’t it? Bull tried to throw me, but I guess I was just a little meaner tonight.”

Cocky. Smug. Infuriatingly Beau.

The crowd went wild, but the interviewer wasn’t done.

“And what about the infamous single-man Beaudreau Banks? Anyone special you’d like to dedicate this win to?”

I choked on my own spit. My arms trembled. My jaw popped open, slack, useless.

They zoomed in on him, his skin glistening under the bright arena lights.

Beau chuckled, shaking his head, his hands gripping the oversized check like he’d done this a hundred times before. “Nah. No one special yet . . .”

I exhaled, relief flooding me. Thank God. See? Not about me. Not even a little bit.

But—

He grabbed the mic. “Just a really good friend back at home. That’s who I’m dedicating this to.”

I screamed. Shrieked like a goddamn insect had landed in my bed and threw my phone across the room.

No. No.

Oh my fucking God.

He wasn’t talking about me.

Absolutely not.

Not possible. Couldn’t be.

I jumped off the bed, pacing, shaking my hands out like I could physically rid myself of the delusion.

“A good friend back at home.”

He meant Harleigh. He had to mean Harleigh.

Or Roger. Maybe even Kline!

Or—oh my God—maybe some other girl from back home I didn’t even know about.

My breath came in short, frantic bursts. I needed facts. Logic. Rational thinking.

Because there was zero chance he was talking about me.

. . . Right?

“Fuck my life,” I groaned, grabbing my phone and slamming it into Do Not Disturb. I didn’t want to see whatever text Harleigh was inevitably going to send.

I flopped back onto the bed, exhaling sharply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before my thumb hovered over my screen.

I shouldn’t.

But I did.