Page 25 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re telling me I don’t get to see if you can last eight seconds outside the arena too?”

I blinked, thrown off by the mental image that conjured. A laugh slipped from me, which only made her grin wider.

“Yeah, well . . .” I tried to salvage my serious expression, but it was a losing battle. “I needed to say it, you know, to avoid confusion.”

Her smirk said she was absolutely enjoying my discomfort. “Sure thing, boss. Wouldn’t want us breakin’ any headboards—er, rules.”

I bit back another laugh.

Thank God she’s rolling with it.

The last thing I wanted was awkwardness that made living together unbearable. Especially when, from where I stood, the only truly awkward part was the way my gaze kept drifting to her mouth.

I cleared my throat again, eager to pivot. “Where’s your phone? Let me punch in my number.”

She nodded toward the kitchen counter, which was still covered in the remnants of my breakfast prep. “Right there, under the spatula.”

It was unlocked, so I tapped in my number and sent a quick text to myself.

The buzz in my pocket confirmed it. “Alright,” I said, returning her phone to the counter. “Now we each have the other’s number. I’m heading out until Sunday evening.”

“We’ll be fine.” She assured me. “I’ll text you updates and pictures.”

“I appreciate it,” I managed. “You good with her for a few minutes?”

“Go do your thing, cowboy.”

I mumbled a thanks, trying not to notice how her lips parted in a small smile, or how she swept her eyes over me.

I half jogged down the hall. Professional, I reminded myself, though my body clearly had other ideas.

The moment I was behind closed doors, I blew out a breath, letting the tightness drain from my shoulders, only to be replaced by the roiling frustration buzzing under my skin.

This is ridiculous, I thought, pinching the bridge of my nose. The bull-riding circuit was crawling with buckle bunnies who’d be more than willing to take the edge off if I needed it this weekend.

I grabbed my duffel bag from the closet and started shoving clothes in, a little more violently than necessary. “I am not going to fuck up,” I muttered.

Not with the nanny—the nanny I’m apparently way too attracted to.

I tried to shake it off, but my mind kept circling back to her red lips, the soft way she cooed at Cora, and that playful sarcasm. Half the time I wanted to fire back with something smart. The other half, I wanted to shut her up with my mouth.

“Fuck,” I groaned, slamming the closet door harder than intended, and walked over to the adjoining bathroom.

I turned on the shower full blast and stripped. The spray hit my skin in a punishing rush.

I am definitely not thinking about the nanny, I told myself, bracing my hands against the tile as the water cascaded over me.

My skin was already damp, my chest tight, and my dick? Fucking hard. Like hurts-to-even-think hard.

God dammit.

I pressed my back against the cold tile, hoping it would shock me out of it, but nope. Just made me twitch harder. I wrapped my hand around myself with a groan, squeezing tight.

Don’t think about her.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” I mumbled.

Her ass in those yoga pants—fuck, the way it moves when she walks.