Page 3 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

TWO

ADALENE

“It’s just dinner.” His voice is like smoky silk, soft and warm against my skin. And I have to fight the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes up at him. Because even if I wish I could, I know I should absolutely not want to say yes.

It’s far too dangerous.

“Then it shouldn’t be a big deal if I have to politely decline.” This he cocks a dark, full brow at and my stomach does that stupid somersault thing that makes me feel partly like I want to throw up and partly like I want to hump him.

“Politely?”

The fucking nerve of this guy. “It would have been polite if you had accepted my no, three tries ago, yes.”

“Give me one good reason why.” There’s an edge of humor in his voice that causes chills to erupt over my arms.

“I have to go home and feed Queen Tut.” I cock a hip at him, and his second perfect brow raises to meet the other.

“Queen Tut? Don’t you mean King Tut?”

“I think I know the name of my own cat, thank you very much.”

“I just mean, wasn’t the famous Egyptian a guy?”

I scowl at him, pinching my eyebrows together, and place both of my balled fists on my hips. “How very sexist of you. A famous Egyptian couldn’t be a girl?”

He takes a small step toward me. “What, no. That’s not what I meant, I just—” He shakes his head, his jet black, perfectly gelled hair not moving an inch. What I wouldn’t give to run my hands through it and mess it up— just once.

“So we’re on the same page? I can go home to my sweet boy and we’ll have dinner another time.” I love bantering with him, but lately it’s done nothing but make me feel hot and sweaty, and so very confused.

“Wait, what? Queen Tut’s a boy?” His voice borders on hysterical, and I know I’ve officially sent him for a loop. Which was the goal. If he’s confused, he’ll give up on this silly pursuit to take me out—hopefully.

“Are you homophobic too? Queen Tut can’t be a boy's name?” I brush a long strand of hair over my shoulder. His eyes track my hand and the long tresses of hair, and heat gathers heavy in my belly at the intensity of his gaze.

“Damn it, Dale, no. You know I’m not. I’m just fucking confused. Why would you…”

I put a hand in the air between us, silencing him. “He’s into boys. A super manly name didn’t suit him—but a powerful one did. There, do you need any more background on the love of my life or can you drop it now?” I try to fight the smile from tipping my lips, but I fail… miserably.

His scowl instantly melts away, a timid smile playing across his lips, eyes sparking with mischief. “I’ll follow you to your house, and then we’ll go from there.” He turns on his heel, and strides through the now empty parking lot with the authority of a king. Like he owns the place.

The thought makes me snort. And then I process his comment, my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach.

“What?” I screech. “Mateo, you’re not coming to my house.”

He turns around, but continues to walk towards his shiny truck, his steps sure and steady. He flashes me a full-watt smile and it’s a miracle I don’t collapse into a puddle right there.

“Better hurry, Dale, Queen Tut’s hungry.” He’s smiling and laughing softly, but I don’t miss the edge of a growl in his voice.

What the fuck’s happening here?

I try to put my key in the front lock, but my hand shakes slightly, making it impossible to line the key up.

“Fuck,” I hiss and stop, lowering the key to my side, taking a deep breath.

I raise it again, just in time to feel Mateo’s heat like a blanket across my back.

I whirl on him, ready to tell him to back the fuck up, but no words come out.

He’s so close that as I turn the fabric of his white shirt brushes across my cheek, and his heavy cedar and spice smell coats my nostrils.

I suck in a shaky breath, and tip my head up to look at his face.

He towers over me by more than a foot, putting my face right in line with muscles I didn’t even know existed beneath his perfectly pressed shirts.

But they’re there, and they’re brushing against my already heated cheeks and nose, making it impossible to form any coherent thought.

His face tips down to look at me, one brow already quirked in question, a half smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

His soft brown eyes glitter down at me, and I know he’s enjoying making me uncomfortable.

Which is an entirely new facet to our lifetime friendship—he’s never flirted with me before, not that I can be certain that’s what’s happening now. But fuck, it sure feels like it.

“Do you mind?” I bite out, mustering as much irritation as I can. In response, his smile spreads, and he extends one arm to rest above my head on the doorway. The shirt stretches over the muscles hidden beneath, the seam threatening to burst and I swallow loudly.

“Not at all. Take your time.” His voice is a playful whisper, the words fanning across my scorching skin.

“How tall are you anyway?” I grumble, unable to tear my eyes away from his stone-like stature.

“Six four. Same as I was as a senior.”

I blink at that. Ten years isn’t that long, and yet it’s an eternity. And in that span of time the kind, handsome boy I crushed on became something else entirely—something covered in dark tattoos and miles of muscle that no longer makes my heart just flutter but want to fucking burst.

“Huh.”

“How tall are you?” I swear he flexes his muscles and a bead of sweat forms at my temple.

“Short,” I bite out, unable to remember my exact height with him this close.

“And still full of piss and vinegar I see.”

My eyes snap to his. “You’re a lot sassier than I remember. And—” I wave a hand, motioning the muscle-bound space between us. “Buffer.”

“Buffer?” His smile widens a fraction and my heart slams in my throat.

“Covered in tattoos,” I add. Full sentences aren’t making a comeback anytime soon apparently.

He shrugs. “I’m not a boy anymore.”

Yes, I can fucking see that. I lick my lips, my mouth bone dry.

“You’re not a girl either.” His eyes flick down my body, a scorching blaze over my already warm skin, and I shiver at the intensity of it.

I turn back to face the door. Absolutely nothing good’s going to come from being this close, and I’m aware I’m about to say something stupid. It’s clear he’s getting too much pleasure out of my discomfort.

I wonder what else he gets pleasure out of? I growl at my spiraling thoughts. No, Dale. Bad. Down.

By some miracle, I find the key hole in one attempt and push the door open with a gasp. I stumble inside, not taking a second to realize he’s in my house, taking in my most private space—my life.

I never let anyone into my space; Stetson’s only visited once recently, and that was because she insisted.

It’s not that I don’t love her and see her as my best friend.

But sharing my space feels like exposing myself naked, and the character I’ve made myself to be in public is far different to the one I hide behind my little black door.

The door clicks shut, and I whirl to face Mateo once more. My heart pounds angrily in my throat, the realization he’s here almost too much for me to handle. I watch him, unable to form words.

The small cottage—the only place in this world that’s truly mine—is cluttered full of character.

But for someone who’s used to million dollar hotel rooms and diamond encrusted dinner plates, I’m sure it looks like a hovel.

I’m proud of the space I’ve created, but for the first time I feel insecure. What if it’s all trash?

This is exactly why I don’t let anyone in here.

He moves into the small living room, his head only inches from touching the low ceiling, and I watch his eyes move over the shelves of pictures, books, and figurines.

His enormous, tattoo covered hand reaches out gingerly, touching a small glass dragon sitting next to one of my collectors edition book series, and it nearly sucks what little oxygen I’ve been able to absorb out of my body.

He looks so out of place here, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s not much,” I finally croak out, and I hate how nervous I sound.

He doesn’t turn around, instead continues stepping around the room, taking in every little shelf and photo.

I didn’t picture him as someone who would appreciate the little things, but he seems almost mesmerized, and it squeezes on my heart painfully.

My phone dings, and I pull it out seeing a new text from Stetson.

STETSON: That Faith girl said she’s coming to my house next week.

STETSON: On Friday. Please be there. Bring booze.

I snort, Stetson’s nerves palpable even from here. I don’t know much about Faith, but her younger sister is one of my students, and I enjoy her. I imagine Faith is equally good people.

ME: What do you need me there for?

STETSON: I don’t know how to talk to girls. Please.

I smile, shaking my head.

ME: I’ll bring Margarita’s.

Mateo grunts, and I lift my head, pocketing my phone once more. He watches me, before shooting me a small smile. “No TV?”

I bark a laugh at that, instantly deflating and move into the kitchen, leaving him to follow behind me. “I prefer books.”

“You don’t say.” There’s no judgment in his voice, only amusement.

“Sometimes I like to escape my life.” It’s an off-handed comment, but I refuse to look at him all the same. I can feel his gaze boring into the side of my head, like he’s waiting for me to turn. But I refuse. Finally, his gaze shifts.

“Good god, is that your cat?”

I turn around to find Queen Tut brushing his massive orange body along Mateo’s perfectly creased pant leg, leaving behind a blanket of orange hair.

I giggle, and reach for the lint roller I keep on the counter for just this emergency.

Mateo sees me coming toward him, and waves me off.

He bends over, picking up Tut with an exaggerated groan.