Page 36 of Rope Me In

“Hey, I asked you a question.” Without thinking, I reach out and grab his elbow to stop him. A zap of static electricity hits me, and I yelp, pulling back. I look down at my hand then up to a chuckling Kade.

“Well, look at that, Lemon. I think we just had one of those romantic moments in movies.”

I want to ask him what romcoms he’s watching, but that’s not important right now. “It’s called science, you idiot.”

His lips press into a hard line at the barb, but then he collects himself. “If you say so. Or maybe we’re just electric.”

“More like a dumpster fire.”

He lets out a laugh that hurts my ears. Again, it’s too early for this.

“You’re funny when you talk, Lemon.”

I release a quiet sigh, resigning myself to the fact that Kade is never going to stop calling me nicknames. Given how I’ve felt about nicknames in the past, I could make a real fuss about it and put him in his place, but something holds me back. A part of me feels like I’d miss the banter it sparks between us.

When he calls me Lemon, even though it stems from my embarrassment over the back room, I like that it’s personal, thatit was created just for me. It’s not a generic “sweetheart” or a lazy variation of my name. If he tried to call me Pres or P, I might knee him in the balls. Or at least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.

“We’re late,” I say to change the subject, pointing to the digital clock that now reads five-forty.

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he says, “Gavin and I start earlier than everyone. The hands get here at six-thirty am for chores.”

“You told me five-thirty.”

“I wanted to see if you got up.”

“I got up before you.”

“I woke up just when I meant to—didn’t know you’d be staring at me when I did. Did you like what you saw?” He traps his lower lip between his teeth and gestures to his body.

I roll my eyes. Does this man ever not make things sexual? I suppose it fits with what I saw in the back room this weekend and all the chatter I’ve heard about him being a playboy. I guess he’s consistent—I can handle consistent. It’s the chameleons that throw me off my game, like a certain ex I have.

“Can we just get to work, please?” I ask.

He eyes me up and down like he did yesterday with Blake. When he catches my cowboy boots, he grunts. “You may have the right shoes now. But let’s see if you last the day.” Those flirty hazel eyes connect with mine, and he winks.

The urge to stick my tongue out at him like a child is strong, but I manage to remind myself to be an adult, even if he’s not acting like one. I want to tell him that he underestimates me, that just because I’m from the city doesn’t mean I can’t work hard. The work I do looks different from his, but playing the fiddle day in and day out, being onstage, and constantly traveling to catch gigs isn’t easy.

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you sayso, Lemon.”

“I do.”

He chuckles. “Alright, then. I look forward to seeing you eat those words. But first, I need some fucking coffee.”

Kade walks toward the door, ass flexing in his too-tight Wranglers that make me once again wonder how he fell asleep in them. I’d feel like an anaconda was suffocating my thighs.

When he notices I’m not following, he stops and turns. Before I can move my gaze, he catches me. I blush and try to act like I wasn’t just staring at his ass, but he couldn’t miss it. “I know it’s fun to watch me walk away, but we’ve got coffee to drink and work to do.”

Then he’s strutting outside, once again whistling “Hurricane” by Luke Combs.

My stomach grumbles, and I stare at the kitchen. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years, so I doubt any food is there. I guess coffee will have to do for now. I just hope I can stomach Kade on no food and bitter liquid.

Turns out, I can’t handle Kade on an empty stomach. After he took me to a mud room in the main barn where a pot of coffee sat brewing on a timer, he got me started on our chores. He’s having me work beside him, though I think he just wanted to annoy me while I muck crap.

“You missed a spot.”

We’re in another one of the horse stalls. I don’t know how many we’ve mucked because I lost count. At first, I didn’t mind it—it was kind of meditative. But one thing kept ruining my groove: Kade.

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