Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“We got all night, sugar,” he drawls with a chuckle. He’s his old bullshitting self again, and for some reason that gives me a vague feeling of disappointment. “Why the hurry?”
“Call me sugar again, and I’ll be hurrying your ass right off a cliff.”
“You been hangin’ with Mollie, haven’t you?”
It’s a running joke that Mollie and Cash started out wanting to push each other off one of the many cliffs that dot Lucky River Ranch.
“Of course I’ve been hanging out with Mollie. She’s my new favorite person.”
“As long as I’m still your number one.”
I grin. “Always.”
Although I might or might not want to be Mollie when I grow up. If only I could fall in love like she did instead of falling on my face.
Wyatt might have just come into a boatload of cash, thanks to the newly formed ranch he and his brothers and Mollie own and operate. But he still drives the 1980 Dodge Ram pickup he bought for five hundred bucks when he was in his early twenties. He’s restored it piece by piece over the years, and now its new tires, chrome finish, and Carolina-blue paint gleam in the deepening twilight.
I give him a look when he follows me to the passenger side.
“What?” He reaches for the door and opens it for me. “I’m your date. I open your door. You’d best get used to it.”
And here is the vulnerable Wyatt again. The guy who doesn’t hide his goodness, his concern, behind a joke or a crude line.
This is the guy who makes my heart do a hundred backflips per minute.
“You’d best”—stop being so damn good at this—“not boss me around, cowboy.”
He clasps the top of the doorframe in his hand and leans into me, his full mouth pulled into a grin. “Bet you’d like being bossed around.”
I cross my arms, unable to keep myself from smiling. “How much are you willing to gamble?”
His eyes glimmer. But it’s his mouth I can’t stop looking at.
“How much you got?”
Giving him a shove, I laugh. He laughs, too, and it strikes me just how excited I am for tonight. Nervous? Yes. But if I’m already having this much fun with Wyatt, I think the potluck is going to be a really good time.
I always have a really good time with this man, and that’s exactly what I need—a reminder that I’m capable of confidence, of wittiness. I can be myself around a guy. I just need to practice with Wyatt so I can eventually be comfortable around other men too. So I can just be, no fucks given.
“Everything I made being a resident. So, like, fifty bucks,” I say.
“I ain’t takin’ your money, but I will take you out.” He nods at the passenger seat. “Get in, or we’ll be late.”
My nerves take over the closer we get to the potluck, which is being hosted at a neighbor’s barn fifteen or so minutes away.
What if there are no cute cowboys there? What if things get awkward between Wyatt and me? What if they’re the opposite of awkward?
He looks so good in that suit.
So. Fucking. Good.
If he wasn’t my best friend and totally, completely out of my league, I would one hundred percent jump his bones right now.
Using one hand to guide the truck into the gravel lot outside the barn, Wyatt cranks the gearshift into park and kills the engine.
The nighttime quiet fills the cab.
Is it just me, or is the silence between Wyatt and me suddenly thick, alive with anticipation?
“We should talk about what you’re okay with.” His eyes flick over my legs, lingering on the spot where my bare thigh peeks through the slit in my dress. “In terms of, you know, touching and…stuff. I don’t know if it’ll put you in your head or…”
I force out a laugh, cringing inwardly at the high, shaky sound of it. “I’m okay with touching and stuff. We did it at The Rattler the other night, and it actually helped me get out of my head.”
His eyes meet mine. “Tonight, I need you to be more specific. Tell me what you want me to do so I can do it.”
A rush of heat floods my face. I like this serious version of Wyatt too much.
I need a drink. Badly.
“To be honest, Wyatt, I’m not sure what to ask for.”
“Jesus, Sal, have you ever been on a date before?”
“I mean, I have. It’s just been a while. A long while since I had fun on a date. I forget how to do it.”
He frowns. “You forget, or the guys you were with forgot how to treat you proper-like?”
“Proper-like?” I scrunch my nose. “All right, Pa from Little House on the Prairie.”
He blinks, his eyes going soft. “Are you complimenting me with that reference?”
“Of course I am.” I smile, even as my heart twists. “I remember very well how obsessed you and your mom were with Laura Ingalls Wilder.”