Page 48 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

THIRTY-SEVEN

MATEO

I twirl my whiskey glass, an ice cube clinking against the crystal, the amber liquid sloshing near the edge. I can’t get Dale out of my mind, from beneath my skin.

She’s always been a constant light surrounding each thought I have—warm and soft, dulling all of the rough edges of my existence. But she’s never been the center, never all-consuming, and that’s changed. She’s changed —not that I blame her.

I can’t escape thoughts of Dale, not that I want to, but I also haven’t known a moment's peace in months and it’s beginning to fray my well-honed nerves.

I’m not erratic; I’m calculated, precise, intentional —except when it comes to a certain raven haired Latina with the dirtiest mouth known to man.

Every rational thought I’ve ever had, or hope to have, flees my body like a grain of sand in the wind.

It’s maddening.

I love this new version of Dale that does what she wants, instead of what she thinks is expected of her.

The version of her that’s vulnerable and raw because she wants to trust those in her circle, the one that sees the darkness of the world and doesn’t cower, but instead flashes her own teeth in defiance.

I love that she asks the hard questions because she knows she deserves the answers.

I love the version of her that isn’t just yellow sunshine, but orange, red, yellow, black —she’s a flame and I’m helplessly drawn to her.

I love this Dale.

I slam the last finger of whiskey back, setting the glass down with a clink, but the burn does little to calm my nerves.

I look at my watch, contemplating heading to our room to see if she ran away or not.

I know my gesture—although not a big deal in my mind—will be a big one to her.

And I’m wondering now if I scared her away.

Was it too much?

“Another sir?” the bartender asks, and I shake my head.

If I have another who knows what the fuck I’ll do.

If she left, I’ll probably track her down and fuck her over the hood of my car, just for disobeying me.

If she’s still upstairs, I’ll probably get on my knees and crawl to her just to get a taste of her sweet little pussy.

Neither’s a good option when I’m desperately trying to keep my cool.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out.

DALE: Have another.

My eyes widen at the text. Did she just read my mind?

I look up, my eyes clashing with hers across the room, my throat sealing shut at the sight of her. Holy fuck.

She’s wearing the black velvet dress, the thin straps so small I can barely see them even from this distance, her voluptuous tits spilling over the heart-shaped top.

Silver buttons run over one hip to the bottom where it flares into a ruffled skirt.

She has those same insanely tall, black cowboy boots on, and her neck, wrist, and ears glitter with the turquoise set I purchased for her.

Have I mentioned she’s a fucking goddess?

The best accessory she’s wearing though, is a smirk, her plum colored lips tipped to the side, exposing a flash of white teeth.

She’s a flickering mirage of who she used to be, over the woman she’s becoming— someone stronger, sturdier, braver.

It’s a breathtaking image, and if I wasn’t sitting I’d fall to my knees at her fucking feet.

I stand, resting my hand on the bar to keep from doing just that, and start to walk toward her. She shakes her head, the mane of black hair curling around her hips, shimmers with the movement.

She strides toward me, an air of confidence mixing with her thick lavender scented perfume, and I greedily gulp in the scent and sight of her. She’s magnificent, and as nervous as she’d been on the phone earlier, she seems anything but now. She looks set to devour me, and I hope she does .

Dale sidles up next to me, setting a small black clutch on the rich wooden bar and smiles at the bartender.

I watch his eyes light up at the sight of her, and I swear to god if he makes a single flirtatious comment I’ll reach across this bar and shove the spout of a bottle up his nose and into his fucking brain.

“Can I have an old fashion please?” She looks at me expectantly and I nod. Fuck it—I’m going to have to loosen up more still, if I have any hope of making it through this dinner alive. “Make that two. Oh, can I have extra cherries in mine? I love those fucking things.”

She faces me fully now, and from here I can see the thick layer of freckles dusting the swells of her breasts. My fingers twitch, and I grip the bar tighter to keep myself from reaching out and tracing a finger over their mesmerizing patterns.

“My eyes are up here,” she quips. My face heats, my eyes snapping to hers, both expertly lined in black eyeliner and a thick layer of mascara, making the warm brown glitter darker.

“Are you sure? I’m pretty convinced I was having a full blown conversation down there.”

She snorts, that fucking sinful smirk twisting her lips again. “What does that have to do with my eyes?”

I have no fucking clue.

I blink at her, trying to string together any words that would be even close to resembling a sentence. But nothing comes, and I continue to stare at her, blinking like a fucking idiot.

She leans forward, her tits brushing against my grip on the bar. “Cat got your tongue, your highness?”

My dick throbs, and if a zipper could groan, it would be doing so right now. I’m so hard it hurts.

“Cowgirl,” I state, my tongue thick in my mouth.

“Hmm?” Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“A cowgirl has my tongue. Not a cat.”

She bites her lip, turning away from me, but not before I see her neck splotching that pretty shade of pink. “Where’s that drink?”

Her foot runs along the inside seam of my jeans, and even though I’m desperate to see what happens next, I’m not ready to miss this opportunity. I want to know what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers.

“So what do you want for your future Dale?” I take another sip of my drink—the fourth one… I think . My mind’s as hazy as my stomach is warm, with the alcohol. I’ll be paying for it tomorrow, or tonight if fate is it’s normal bitch, but I just can’t seem to care.

I’m having fun.

And more than that, Dale’s smiling at me, her cheeks rosy, like she too is having fun. She’s relaxed, and happy for the first time in weeks, and I can’t tear myself away from the moment. Not yet.

“Oh okay, we’re getting serious then,” she deadpans, forcing a stoic look to claim her features, taking another rather large gulp of the liquid.

Maybe I should feel bad putting her on the spot, but it’s this or another risky game of truth or dare, and as much as I’d love to see where that goes this time, I do want a serious answer.

Just this once.

I want to know what she wants, what she dreams about, what she’s working towards. So that I can make sure it happens for her.

For us.

Even if that makes me fucking crazy.

I clear my throat, more for my own benefit than hers, but she takes it as a nudge regardless.

“Fine.” She sets her glass down, steepling her fingers over the rim. “I suppose I should go back to teaching in the very near future to start.”

I lean forward. “Do you want to go back to teaching?”

Her eyes glitter at me, a restrained smile making her lips twitch. “Honestly, yes. I miss the kids, I miss having a purpose, and I miss my horse. Chuck is technically the Agriculture program’s, we use him for all kinds of things. But I feel like he’s my baby most, and I miss him.”

I nod, slightly surprised by her answer. I never could tell if she loved teaching, she was always so drained. And after being kidnapped, I don’t know, I thought she might be ready to give it up, not that I want her to.

“And it makes you happy?” I ask, her happiness the only thing truly important to me.

“Yes and no.” She shrugs her shoulders. “For so long I let the program run me. The kids, the parents, the donors, the schedule, the expectations—they’re incredible pressures.

But I don’t know. Somehow I think it’ll be different.

I think I’m different.” She pauses, nibbling on her lip, and I wait.

“I want to see how much better I can be for the program if I’m actually setting boundaries, showing up with my cup full instead of relying on it to both drain and fill it, saying no when I need to, doing only the things that feel right instead of pleasing everyone.

It feels like a challenge, and I’m surprisingly excited for it. ”

Hearing her talk about teaching, about her excitement for the challenge of not just going back, but doing it better because she wants it to be better, it brings me a modicum of peace. I feel better, knowing she’s doing it for her and no one else.

If only I could embrace my own life the same way.

“What about you? Do you want to continue to be a Mob boss?”

I groan, rolling my eyes. Not only do I still hate that term for what I do, but I hate the question. Because no one likes the honest answer, not even myself.

“I’m not a mob boss,” I grumble, finishing the glass of whiskey, the burn almost non-existent at this point.

“Sorry. King. Emperor? Chief? Don?”

“Knock it off,” I growl, but her eyes twinkle at my irritation, and I can’t find it in me to actually be upset. Not when she’s looking at me like that.

“I’m waiting,” she prompts.

“I don’t know Dale. I don’t love what I do, but if I don’t do it, who will? It’s my family's legacy, passed down for literal generations. When I die, could I really face my father, and grandfather, and his father? Could I face myself? Knowing I’m the one who put it under?”

“Why the fuck are you worried about facing dead people? You’re alive now.”

“Yes, and if I’m the kind of man who lets his family down, who lets down all of the families that rely on my business to support their own, am I worthy?”

“Worthy of what?” she asks, confusion written in every line of her face.

How can I explain this to her? How can I say how I feel without using words I know will no doubt scare her away? Although, if anyone is going to understand familial pressures, and personal desires, it’s Dale.

“A home, a family, a wife.” That’s not exactly it, and her eyes soften, like she knows. She fucking knows and that should terrify me. But it doesn’t.

Seeming to sense my growing discomfort with the truth shimmering between us, Dale shifts once more, smiling softly.

“I, too, want a home different from the one I currently have. I love my little house, but someday I want to build one. A big adobe thing, with a fenced courtyard in the front, and a pool with cactus all around it!” Her face lights up as she describes her dream home.

And I lean forward, hungry for more details, even as my heart shatters.

Because I have no idea how to give her this life. Not when I have to run my family's ranch, and casino.

“Sounds like a nice place,” I say wistfully, my heart stuttering with want. I want to give her such a life. I want to give myself the freedom to wish.

She nods enthusiastically. “I want to have a small plot, just enough to have a herd of longhorns and a couple horses. I like genetics and think it would be really cool to do show longhorns or something exotic, but also like, so Texas.”

I can picture it too. I can picture her by the pool, topless with a giant hat shading her face and a book splayed open on her stomach.

I can picture her riding the fence lines, or racing through the fields trying to beat me back to the house.

I can see her in the front yard, elbow deep in soil, planting her cactus garden, kittens playing on the hot sidewalk.

Fuck.

She pauses, her smile melting away. I blink, trying to dispel a very real, and very unwanted film of water that’s currently threatening to spill from my eyes. What the fuck is happening to me?

“You’re drunk,” she teases, but it’s tight. And again, I know she knows . Whether she’s not saying anything for my benefit or hers, I don’t know.

I clear my throat, ready to change the subject, even if I wish we could dive deeper. “Would you like to go upstairs?”

Her pupils instantly dilate at the implication, the alcohol removing any hesitancy or reservation, and for that I’m grateful. It’s plain to see she wants me, and fuck, I want her.

But not just in bed.

I want her forever.