Page 7 of Her Steamy Cowboy

Jace: I’m taking you. End of discussion

Me: I’m sure you have better things to do than drive ten hours round trip.

Jace: There’s nowhere else I need to be. I’ll see you in the morning

I huddle deeper into my coat and head for my car, my heart doing that stupid little dance again.

How does he do that? Make me feel so secure even when things are weird between us?

My phone buzzes again.

Jace: And don’t even think about leaving before I get there.

Chapter Three

JACE

I pullup outside of Lindsay’s apartment above the ranch gift shop at 4:57 AM, killing the engine but leaving the heat running. I take a moment to breathe in the quiet.

To remember all the reasons why I need to let this stupid crush go.

Lindsay deserves to be happy, and if that happiness is with someone else, then I need to be the kind of friend who supports that.

Even if every time I think about her with another man, it feels like someone’s taken a hot brand to my chest.

I’ve spent the last hour setting up the truck exactly how she likes it—her favorite blanket from the ranch house folded in thirds the way she showed me (“It keeps the warmth in better, Jace”), and her go-to road trip playlist queued up on my phone.

Two gas station coffees sit in my cup holders—the fancy cappuccino she claims is “basically milk with anxiety” but drinks anyway, and my plain black that she’ll inevitably steal half of. I’m so attuned to her habits that it’s become second nature, this choreography of caring for her without letting it show too much.

I grab my phone from the center console and text her:

Me: Your chariot awaits, princess.

Lindsay: It’s not even 5 yet!

Me: Some of us believe in being on time.

Lindsay: Did you remember to bring the tacos?

Me: Yep, got em right here. And they’re getting cold.

Lindsay: Coming!!!

The front door of her building opens and Lindsay walks out.

She’s wearing that oversized cream sweater that keeps slipping off one shoulder, paired with her favorite worn jeans that hug every curve. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face and she’s doing that little shuffling run she does when she’s cold.

It’s so freaking cute that I almost groan.

I grip the steering wheel harder, forcing myself to remember the decision I made after she turned down my New Year’s invitation.

Friends. We’re friends. Best friends.

And I’m not going to ruin that just because my heart doesn’t know how to stay in its lane.

“Look who’s actually on time,” she teases as she climbs in, bringing a burst of cold air and the scent of her vanilla shampoo with her. “And he comes bearing gifts.”

“You’re my navigator, remember?” I hand her the cappuccino, careful to keep my eyes on the cup instead of theway her sweater has slipped further off her shoulder. “Can’t have you falling asleep on me.”

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