Page 13 of Backup Cowboy
“Isn’t that the nature of the music industry though? Change?” I pick up a twig and snap it between my fingers. “Don’t tell me the great Alexandra Tate is afraid of change.” I side bump her with my shoulder. “Or are you just too set in your city ways to handle country living? You get your groceries delivered, don’t you?”
She bats at my shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s called convenience.”
“Out here we call that ‘being too fancy to do things yourself.’ But don’t worry, Boots. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to open a can of beans when the apocalypse comes.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d even eat canned beans. That’s peasant food.”
This woman. She’s such a breath of fresh air. She doesn’t expect anyone to hand her anything. She works for it. But she also demands that same thing in return. I take in her makeup-free face, the way her brown strands are still pulled into the messy bun from this morning. She could wear a paper sack and still command a room.
A breeze rustles through the nearby juniper branches as I head toward the river, its current slow and smooth. “If you’re going to even think about living in Cobalt County, let’s see if there’s some country hiding in you somewhere.”
She follows along to the water’s edge with fake exasperation. I bend down and pick up a couple of stones, skipping one across the water. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Alex picks up a stone and throws it like a baseball right down into the water, where it sinks with a plunk. “I think that was pretty good, Cowboy. Feedback?”
Shaking my head, I stifle a laugh. “What you need is proper technique, Boots.” I step behind her, my arms inches from hers. “May I?”
Alex’s response is breathy and slow. “Mhmm.”
The way her back eases into my chest, like she was made to fit there, damn near undoes me. Trying to focus on the lesson, I place one hand on her hip, the other guiding her arm as I skip another stone. This one hits the water twice before sinking.
“Now you.”
My hand entwined with the back of hers, we send another rock skipping five or six times across the water. Neither of us speaks, our breaths heavy. I don’t let myself shift closer, even though every nerve is screaming at me to do just that. I will myself to let go, to put space between us, but I just can’t do it.
She can’t either because she nestles back against me, her head leaning against my throat. My dick hardens at her ass pressed against my groin. I close my eyes, brushing my thumb against the inside of her wrist as we stand alone at the water’s edge.
What the fuck is wrong with me? This woman is under a lot of pressure and vulnerable. Plus, the last woman I wanted half this bad walked away. Once was enough.
“Sorry, Boots.” I step backward, placing my hands in my jean pockets. “Not what you need right now.”
She whips around, placing a hand on my chest. “The only person who gets to decide what I need is me, Cowboy.” Her blue eyes peer into mine with an intensity that makes me want to kiss those full lips and wish the world away when she suddenly shoves at me before yanking off her sneakers. “And what I need right now is to beat your country butt at rock skipping.”
She rolls her joggers above her knees and wades into the water up to mid-shin. “You in?”
My chest tightens at her fearlessness, the way I used to be before I learned how badly I could let someone down.
She trudges like the crevices in the limestone aren’t there.
“Easy there, Boots.” Arms crossed over my chest, I watch her test the stones. “These rocks are slicker than they look.”
She does a little shimmy. “Scared I might win?”
With a chuckle, I tug off my boots and socks, rolling my jeans up to my knees before splashing my way toward the gorgeous woman. I’ve been walking across this limestone since I was a kid. “Hope you’re good at losin’, ’cause I don’t do participation trophies.”
Turns out, Alex is a natural and competitive as hell. After a particularly good skip, she does a little victory cheer. “Don’t feel bad, Cowboy. There’s still time for you to catch up.”
I might be doing better if she hadn’t removed her jacket. It’s warm out now, and the tight vintage Led Zeppelin tee clings to her, the cotton fabric outlining every curve. She has no clue how close I am to hauling her out of this river, pinning her against the grass, and making her scream my name until the whole damn county hears.
So, I put all that sexual frustration into my next throw, which sinks right to the bottom of the river.
Yep.
After she skips the final winning stone, she turns to me wearing a satisfied grin. “I don’t do participation trophies either, Cowboy.”
I tip my hat, eyes raking over her. “You’re dangerous, you know that? Got me losin’ my edge and likin’ it.”
Her grin holds for a beat before fading slightly as she gazes across the water. “Can I ask you something serious, Cowboy? Do you ever feel like you’re just going through the motions, like everyone expects you to be someone you’re not sure you want to be?”