Page 24 of Sexting the Cowboy

“Stop talking,” I say, dragging myself toward the coffee pot in the corner.

“Bad night?”

“Bad choices,” I mutter.

He tilts his head. “Reno?”

“Worse.” I pour coffee that tastes like burned air and swallow it anyway. “Me.”

“Ah.” He waits, expecting details. I give him none. “You’re gonna tell me eventually.”

“Unlikely.” I sip again and glance toward the flap as the first light cuts across the grass. The fairground’s waking up. People shouting. Trucks backing in. I can already hear the bulls shifting in the pens. I close my eyes for a second, steadying my breathing.

“Okay,” Jaden says, watching me carefully. “You’re officially scaring me.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say, just as the tent flap rustles.

Reno stands there, sunlight behind him like a halo he doesn’t deserve. Jeans, a faded rodeo T-shirt, that stupid swagger that looks less dangerous now and more exhausting. His limp’s pronounced this morning, and he doesn’t bother hiding it. “Doc,” he says, holding a paper bag aloft. “Brought breakfast.”

“I didn’t order delivery.”

“Didn’t ask.” He steps inside, the scent of powdered sugar following him. “You still like donuts?”

“Not from you.”

“Harsh.” He smiles anyway, that crooked grin that used to make me forgive everything. “Figured I’d stop by, make sure you weren’t killing anyone.”

Jaden looks from him to me and wisely slips out the back.

“Cute assistant,” Reno says.

“Don’t,” I warn. “Not today. He’s a nurse, not my assistant, and I won’t tolerate you or anyone else disrespecting him.”

He chuckles and sets the bag down on the counter. “You’re still mad.”

“Why would I be mad? You only spent six months drinking through physical therapy and blaming me for every bad thing that ever happened to you.”

His smile falters. “You always did have a mean streak.”

“And you always had a knack for self-destruction, which is why we aren’t together anymore, so I don’t understand why you’re here right now.”

The air goes taut. For a heartbeat, we’re right back where we used to be—standing in the wreckage ofalmost. He shifts his weight, winces, tries to cover it with a grin. “Still got that bite.”

“Bitier, now.”

That makes him laugh, real and raw, and for a second I remember the version of him before the accident, before the bitterness. I hate that memory more than I hate him. It’s too kind. “See you around, Annie,” he says finally. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“Not in any danger,” I mutter, but he’s already gone.

When the flap falls shut behind him, I breathe out hard and press my palms against the counter until my shoulders stop shaking.

Jaden pokes his head back in. “Still worth the paycheck?”

“Probably not, but the money’s too good to quit all the same.”

He gives me a sympathetic nod. “I’ll run inventory.”

Once he’s gone, I dig into the bag out of spite and eat a chocolate donut that tastes like old love and regret. The sweetness coats my tongue, bitter underneath. Ten minutes later, I get a stomachache. Figures.