Page 45 of Ride Me Reckless

We dug in without ceremony with the hospital tray hovering over my lap. I shifted just enough to grab a slice, trying not to jostle the IV taped to my arm. Tessa sat beside the bed, close enough that our arms brushed every so often. She handed me the Coke, then snatched it right back for the first sip with a smirk. I didn't even protest—just held out my hand until she passed it back like we'd done a hundred times before.

"Remember that time in Billings?” She asked, around a mouthful. "We got stuck overnight after that regional rodeo and ate two large pizzas in the back of your truck.”

I laughed, nearly choking on cheese. "Pretty sure you ate one and a half of those yourself."

"Please. I had to keep up with your metabolism back then."

We kept eating, trading stories, and laughing in between bites. It wasn't loud laughter—more like those soft chuckles you let out when something hits you just right. Familiar. Easy.

For the first time in days, I felt almost okay.

Almost.

Because beneath the warm crust and carbonated sugar and her effortless smile… there was still something else. Something quiet. Sweet.

She hadn't looked at her phone since the order. Hadn't checked her messages. Hadn't said what she was doing after this.

And I hadn't asked.

We finished off the last slice without speaking. She handed me the cup for one final sip, and I made a show of draining it, even though there was barely anything left.

"You always do that," she said, grinning.

"Do what?"

"Leave me nothing but ice."

I shrugged, licking sauce from my thumb. "Tradition."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, smile lingering but eyes thoughtful.

And just like that, I felt the moment start to slip. Like the good parts of us were always on a timer.

Still, for a little while, we'd found it again. That rhythm. That space where we didn't have to say anything big to mean something real.

And even if it didn't last, I wasn't about to take it for granted.

Not this time.

Tessa stood and brushed pizza crumbs off her jeans, grabbing the empty box and Coke cup with the other hand. She looked lighter than when she'd first walked in—still tired, yeah, but not so tightly wound.

She moved toward the door, and something in me tugged. I wasn't ready for her to go.

"Hey, Tess?"

She turned; her fingers still curled around the doorknob.

I tilted my head on the pillow. "You ever think about going back to barrel racing?"

That made her blink. Then blink again.

I shrugged a little. "Just sayin'. Might scratch the itch. You've always been dangerous with a fast horse and a tight turn."

Her mouth pulled into a slow grin. "You trying to get me trampled, Bennett?"

"Not if you stay on," I said, smirking. "You were damn good at it."

She laughed—genuine and from the gut—and shook her head. But she didn't dismiss it outright. Instead, she gave me a look I hadn't seen in years. A spark of something… thoughtful. Curious.