Page 6 of A Cowboy Holiday
“Uh-huh. Well, if I’m Mick Jagger, who’re you?”
“Bruce. I love him,” Kitty gushed.
“Springsteen? Why?”
“Why not? He’s aged well, he’s intelligent, and he’s a responsible family man.”
“How do you know he’s a responsible family man?”
“I readPeople. I know shit.”
“This conversation is going to strange places. I’m hanging up on you. Bye, Kit.”
“Bye, handsome. Give Phee twenty kisses, and tell her I miss her.”
“I will.”
“And Axe? You really are doing a great job. Hang in there, sweetheart. That girl is thriving because of you. Mellie would be so proud and?—”
“Stop.”
Kitty sighed. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later. Be good, be happy.”
I disconnected the call, tossed my cell onto the coffee table, and closed my eyes.
Some days I felt as if I could drown under the weight of old anguish and simple survival. Life would have been a fuck of a lot easier if I were a people person like Kitty—or hell, even Dennis. I was not. But I could fake it for Phoebe’s sake.
I’d do anything for Phoebe’s sake.
CHAPTER 3
TANNER
Confession: A certain vet had been on my mind a lot lately. Maybe too much.
I’d called Axel after he’d sent the paper work on the herd with a dozen nit-picky questions that had garnered nothing more than a series of grunts. And you know what? It had turned me the fuck on.
Not joking.
I’d sat in my office at my desk, rubbing my cock with the heel of my palm over rough denim as if I’d been lying in bed watching porn on my laptop. Anyone could have walked in, which would have been seriously mortifying. Of course I hadn’t whipped my dick out, but I’d replayed the sound of those wicked grunts while jerking off in the shower that night.
And the next.
Christ, I needed to get laid.
I was out of sorts and not quite thinking straight. Which might explain why I’d accepted an invitation to dinner with my ex.
That was a mistake.
Rich and I sat at a candlelit table for two at a nice steak house, muddling our way through casual conversation. The second we were left alone with a basket of warm bread, salted butter, and leather-clad menus, I knew this was a bad idea. But as Rich had pointed out, we lived a town away and ran in the same circles. Hell, he worked for Oak Ridge Winery.
Hiring a college acquaintance had been one thing, but sleeping with him? Not my brightest move. To be fair, Santiago was his direct boss. Still…it was complicated.
According to Rich, it didn’t have to be. We could be friends. And friends occasionally dined together.
But then…
“What if we were friends…with benefits?”