Page 39 of Bouquets and Buckles

Brad knows me well enough that he’ll either eat before he comes over or turn up with takeout of some kind.

I’ve been a fluttering bundle of nerves since his phone call earlier, trying to figure out the best way to sidestep this entire conversation.

There were a few single guys at the New Year party, but Brad is friendly with all of them back in Crimson Ridge, so I can’t pretend to shrug it off as if it was some stranger he doesn’t know.

I grab everything out of the fridge, which now glares back at me woefully bare, and toss the pizza in the microwave.

The clock tells me I’ve got five minutes until he’s going to arrive, so I go in search of my clay face mask in the bathroom.

Hell, my reflection isn’t exactly a sight that will give Brad any confidence that I’m not out here being heartbroken. My hair is gathered up in two messy buns, my oversized hoodie drowns me, and I’ve got comfy sweats tucked into my even more comfy socks.

But, fuck it, I’ve got my body weight in cheese and chocolate ice cream to consume. Who cares if I’m sporting trash panda chic? Certainly not the girl who has to figure out a way not to blurt out to her friend that she’d rather be worshiping his dad’s cock.

I scoop out a little of the face mask and smear two fingers across my cheek in charcoal gray. Just as I’m about to start layering that bitch on thick, my doorbell rings.

God. Here we fucking go.

With an exaggerated sigh through my nose, I patter my way to the front door, drooping the tub of facemask I’d been carrying on the kitchen counter as I go past.

“Hope you brought food, ‘cause I will cut a bitch if you try to steal my piz—”

My throat closes over mid-sentence.

Dark eyes find mine from beneath the brim of a hat I’ve been dreaming about for weeks on end. A broad chest fills my vision. The scent of leather and the faint hint of soap engulfs me.

“Hey.”

I blink like a barn owl. Lucas Rhodes is on my doorstep.

“I did bring you something to eat, hopefully that’s ok?”

Oh my god. My knees feel like they’re going to buckle.

“Luke? What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” His lips twitch a little as his eyes sweep over me, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Are you carrying a crock pot?”

“It’s called a casserole dish, actually. Do you have mud on your face?” He counters.

I want to die right here. Idohave mud on my face, and I’ve got sweats on, and I’m wearing my baggiest, comfiest, least sexy outfit I could possibly have chosen.

Meanwhile, this man looks like the angels plucked him straight from cowboy heaven and delivered him to my door.

“Why are you here?” My knuckles turn white around the door handle.

Luke’s brows crease, and he hesitates a moment, sending my pulse into an erratic, thudding mess.

“I told Brad everything. Well, more accurately, he harassed me nonstop after you left, kept on at me until he wore me down, and I told him what was wrong with me.”

Oh god. My face pales.

Luke’s expression isn’t giving me any clues. Is Brad upset? Angry? When I spoke to him earlier, he seemed fine…

“He was a bit weirded out at first, but to be honest, Skylar, it’s been him convincing me for the past few weeks that I needed to come here and see you.”

“Weeks? Brad has known for weeks?” I whisper screech. Eyes nearly hanging out of my head.