Page 81 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Come for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

And fuck⁠—

I did.

The tension snapped. My legs shook as my body clenched around my fingers. I gasped his name into the empty room.

“Told you, baby. You can run, but you’ll never stop thinking about me.”

My breath hitched.

I stared at the ceiling, reality sinking back in, my body still humming, still hot.

Fuck my life.

26

Beau

My back ached, my wrist was on fire, yet Dalton dragged my ass to The Dive on a Sunday night to celebrate our wins. I’d driven three hours home from Dallas after our flight, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out.

The only thing pushing me forward was the thought that maybe I’d see my “friend.”

I grabbed a beer from the bartender, Brooke. She leaned against the bar, her blonde hair in a messy bun, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Seen Gat?” I asked, taking a swig.

She shook her head. “I think he’s out for the month. Florida or something?”

Dalton strolled up, tossing Brooke a wink as he leaned an elbow against the bar. “Am I gonna get you to come back to my house tonight, B, or are you gonna play hard to get?”

Brooke barely spared him a glance, grabbing a bottle from the cooler behind her. “You always ask me, and I always say no.”

“Until you come a knockin’ . . .” Dalton laughed.

They’d been on and off for forever, their whole relationship built on a cycle of teasing, tension, and the occasional night they didn’t pretend they didn’t want each other. It wasn’t a question of if Brooke would show up at his place again—it was when.

She shook her head, amused. “You boys are exhausting.”

I chuckled, taking the bottle and settling onto the stool. I glanced up at the TV above the bar, where some basketball game was playing. Not that I cared much about it, but it was better than watching Dalton try and fail to charm Brooke.

Two hands grabbed my shoulders, and I winced before I turned around to see who it was.

“There’s the big money winner.”

Harleigh’s dark hair was piled onto her head, a few loose strands framing her face, and she was dressed in a long, denim dress with a fringe jacket.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, shaking my head.

She slid up beside me, wrapping me in a quick hug before plopping onto the stool. Without hesitation, she grabbed the next one, pulling it closer.

My head snapped up, eyes tracking the empty seat to see who was with her.

Fable.

Her long, honey-blonde hair was straightened and fell down past her shoulders. She wore a flowing skirt, delicate little flowers scattered across the fabric, with a simple white top and a denim jacket. It wasn’t her outfit that caught my attention.

It was the way her cheeks flushed the second she sat down, her gaze stubbornly fixed anywhere but on me.