Page 23

I ’m in the general store on the ranch, restocking shelves. Ethel runs it most days since she only cleans a couple of cabins each day—majority of guests stay long enough that daily housekeeping isn’t needed.

I’m halfway through stocking travel-size shampoo bottles when my phone buzzes. I’ve been at it for hours, so I take it as a sign to give myself a break.

Backroads & Bad Decisions Group Chat

Charlie: You’ll never guess who came into the shop this morning.

Birdie: Mr. Grady!?

Wren: Heath.

Briar: The new barista who flirts with you at Lasso & Latte with the rattail mullet and another woman’s name on his neck?

Charlie: Nope, thank god no, and eww, seriously???

Charlie: The new hotshot lawyer came into the shop today. He was asking about you, Briar. He wants to take you out tonight.

Briar: Did you tell him I was interested?

She better not have.

Charlie: You never said you weren’t.

I sigh. Having a feeling I might not like where this is going.

Wren: Not that it would matter. Charlie would set you up either way.

Birdie: No joke. Remember the bartender she pushed me into seeing? Charlie knew he was a walking red flag and still gave him my number.

Charlie: How was I supposed to know he was collecting a Rolodex of women for casual hookups?

Charlie: You were the one who agreed to the date.

Birdie: I didn’t want to be rude! Then he had to go and ask me to ride him halfway through dinner.

Birdie: I thought he meant horseback riding until I texted you. I had to sit through the rest of dinner, mortified, waiting for him to finish his cheesecake so I could bolt.

Wren: Honey, the next time a man asks you that on a first date, you don’t stay for dessert. Grab your purse and leave.

Briar: Amen to that.

Charlie: So, is the date with the hotshot lawyer a no-go?

Briar: I didn’t say that.

Charlie: It’s okay to admit you’re waiting for Mr. Hot Single Dad.

Briar: I’m not.

I looped the girls in on my kiss with Jensen and swore it was a one-time thing, end of story.

The problem is, my hormones haven’t gotten the memo. The man’s a walking thirst trap, especially when he has on gray sweatpants and the glasses he wears at night, and with him down the hall, I have to refrain from sneaking into his room, demanding he prove all my fantasies right.

It’s a good thing I have my own bathroom, because lately my showerhead’s been putting in overtime. Still, it’s a poor substitute for the real thing—calloused hands, warm skin, and a deep voice growling every filthy thing he plans to do to me.

Jensen wasn’t wrong when he assumed I’d only been with country boys before.

They handled me like I was made of glass, fumbling their way around with no idea how to bring me pleasure.

I crave to be manhandled, dominated, and pushed to my limits—shown what it means to be taken control of.

The one person I’m confident could provide that is strictly off-limits.

Charlie: What should I tell the hotshot lawyer?

What’s the worst that could happen if I said yes?

The guy ends up being a total bore—or talks about himself nonstop?

But what if I have a good time and get a break from thinking about a certain someone .

Worth a shot, right? I hit send on the text I’ve just typed out before I can second-guess myself.

Briar: I’m in.

Charlie: Holy plot twist.

Briar: Tell him I’ll meet him at the Prickly Pear Diner at 7:30 p.m.

She sends me a thumbs-up.

This is going to be great… I think. At the very least, I’m looking forward to a much-needed distraction.

Once I’ve finished at the general store, I head back to the cottage. I want to speak to Jensen before I pick Caleb up from the school.

I’m caught off guard when I don’t find him in the dining area, where he’s set up his makeshift office. Normally, he’s glued to his computer during the day, and the few times I’ve been home while he’s working, he only gets up to check on Caleb or grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

I’m about to head outside to see if he’s with Ziggy when I hear footsteps on the stairs.

A second later, I look over to see him in the doorway.

His damp hair tells me he must have recently taken a shower, but all I can focus on are the dark-wash Wranglers he’s paired with a white crew-neck T-shirt.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s wearing his glasses too.

Fantastic.

It’s official: the universe is conspiring against me. Good thing he’s not wearing boots, or I might have forgotten all about Mr. Lawyer and jumped Jensen right here and now.

“Briar, are you alright?”

I blink up at his face, dazed. “Hmm?”

Jensen’s mouth twitches, fighting a grin. “You good? You spaced out on me there for a second.”

“Sorry. I’m still getting used to seeing you in pants,” I blurt without thinking. “Jeans. I mean jeans.” Heat floods my face as I scramble to correct myself.

Real smooth, Briar. You might as well admit you’re picturing him sweaty, shirtless, and railing you in the back of the barn while you’re at it.

“Looks like you’re wearing them too,” he notes.

“Yeah, but I’ve always worn them. Until recently, you wore slacks and a button-up,” I reply, pointing out the obvious.

“Heath brought over a couple of pairs of Wranglers for me. I’m helping bale hay next weekend, and he told me if I showed up in slacks or sweats, Walker and the ranch hands would never let me live it down.”

I have a serious bone to pick with Heath. Helping turn Jensen into cowboy eye candy is cruel and unusual punishment when I’m expected to pretend to be unaffected by his denim and bicep situation.

“You still good to pick up Caleb?” he asks.

I nod, grateful for the change in subject.

“Yeah. I was hoping I could get off a bit early today, say around five, if that works.”

“That’s no problem. I’ve got him covered. Everything okay? Or are you off to save some more chickens tonight?” he asks, nudging his glasses up his nose with a crooked smile.

I chuckle awkwardly, running a hand through my hair. “Not exactly. ”

“Let me guess, saving a lamb from ending up on someone’s dinner plate?”

All I wanted was a quick yes and an easy exit. Now, I’m stuck having to tell him I have plans with a guy I’m not interested in, all in the name of trying to distract myself from him. The last part I’m keeping to myself.

“I’m going on a date tonight. We’re meeting at the Prickly Pear Diner, and I want some extra time to get ready,” I say quickly before I lose my nerve.

Jensen goes still, his posture going rigid as if carved from stone. His jaw slackens as a myriad of emotions flickers across his face before his features settle into a neutral mask.

He gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before moving around me to get to his workstation. “Have a good time.”

Is he serious?

Part of me was convinced he would beg me not to go or at least show some sign that it bothered him.

Maybe our kiss didn’t mean as much to him as it did to me.

Could he be waiting for me to move on so he wouldn’t have to spell out that he’s not interested?

The thought stings more than it should, especially after spending the past few days thinking of nothing but him.

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling the excitement drain away, thanks to his dismissive goodbye. Still, I’m determined not to let this dictate my mood for the evening. I have a date with a hot lawyer, and I intend to enjoy every minute, even if deep down, I’d rather be with Jensen.