Page 33 of 11 Cowboys

Levi’s voice drifts across the space, lazy and amused. “Should I come back later, or is this the part where y’all start writing poetry?”

Grace jolts, and the spell is broken. She presses her lips together, like she’s sealing a thought behind them, and steps back. I let the towel drop from my hand.

“Thanks. For letting me come,” she says, quieter now.

I nod. “Thanks for coming.”

She walks through the house, barefoot and dripping, her eyes resting on Levi for a second before she passes.

Her steps are soft on the hardwood in an unfamiliar way, quieter than the men in this house, and more solid than the children. Levi turns to watch her go, his silhouette large, arms crossed like he’s settling in to be annoying. He’s only two years younger than me, but sometimes it seems a lot more.

“You were out for a while,” he says after a beat. His tone’s casual, but he’s fishing.

“Storm knocked the camera feed,” I say, wiping my palms down my jeans. “Had to check it. She tagged along.”

Levi nods slowly, like he’s deciding how much to say or how much to let me think. “She seems to have a talent for showing up where she’s most needed.”

I shoot him a look. “You saying something?”

He shrugs. “Nah. Just making an observation.”

I step past him, keeping my focus on the doorway. “Thought you hated observations.”

He smirks, and I can feel it behind me. “Only when they’re pointed at me.”

I pause and glance back. “Did you...” I trail off, jaw working.

Levi raises his eyebrows, all innocence and a shit-eatinggrin. “Did I, what?”

I shake my head, jaw tight. “Never mind.”

“Sure,” he says, running his hands through his messy hair. “Sleep tight, Dylan.”

I head for the stairs without answering, and the thick silence closes around me. I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Grace isn’t mine, and this isn’t that kind of story.

But telling myself that doesn’t stop the churn in my gut or the way Levi’s grin sticks in my ribs like a splinter.

I should know better. We all should.

12

GRACE

It’s early morning, but I can’t sleep.

The house is too quiet, and my brain is too loud. Every time I shut my eyes, last night came roaring back. Levi’s mouth, his smile, his kisses, and the way he licked me between my legs like sweet pudding off a spoon. The way his body felt against mine was hard, fluid, and unrelenting. The way he didn’t let me hide and pretend, but found a way to coax pleasure from me has left my body flying high, still thrumming with release and relief.

I’m not broken.

Then, his expression after, when we had to stop pretending that what we did was anything other than a roll in the hay, literally.

He was good. Better than any man before, so I should feel satisfied.

Instead, I feel cracked open. I gave myself over so easily, but at least this time, he gave me something back. I bared my soul to him, telling him something I’ve never confessed to another living soul, and he didn’t make me feel bad aboutit. Instead, he broke down a barrier and awakened my body in a way I doubted would ever be possible.

At this point, I’d usually be drowning in regret, but I’m not.

It’s still dark when I slip out of bed. The floorboards are cold beneath my bare feet. I drift to the window and ease the drapes apart so I can spy out without being seen.