Page 25 of Cowboys Can't Kiss

“That was pretty smooth, Jackson.”

He stands from our table and scoops all the trash on the tray. I follow beside him as he dumps our tray, sorting all the recyclables and organics in the bins, and we leave the small cafeteria at the conference centre.

“I have my moments, Riley. Not very many, but I definitely feel comfortable with you,” he murmurs.

I return his small smile because itiscomfortable with him.

“I think you just wanted someone to keep you company today.”

He pauses outside the next lecture hall that’s filling for the afternoon talk.

“Can I make a confession?”

I step aside to allow others to enter the room. “As long as it’s not a biblical confession. And no kneeling.”

Jackson blinks for a moment, clearly not knowing how to handle my attempt at humour, before stepping over to the side with me.

“Um, no. Not that I wouldn’t kneel for you if you asked. It’s just not something I do? Um…” He closes his eyes and presses his lips together. “Not so smooth now, am I?”

A giggle slips out, and he raises an eyebrow while I slap a hand over my mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. You’re just super cute when you get nervous.”

“That’s the second time today you called me cute.” He inhales a deep breath. “You really think I’m cute?”

His soft gaze holds mine and I can’t lie to him.

“I do. Immensely cute.”

Jackson’s smile is so bright I need to fish outmy sunglasses.

“My confession was: yes, I asked you for company first. But I really wanted to prove to Cameron that I’m not the fuckup he seems to think I am if I have a boyfriend.” He huffs a small laugh. “I know that sounds lame, but me being here during rodeo season and with a date makes me feel validated. Like I can still have rodeo and other things. A relationship and a business. So thank you for boosting my confidence.”

Well… this Cameron guy sounds like a dick.

“Is Cameron here?”

“Yeah. I saw him earlier, and he’s probably in this talk.”

“Well then. Let’s give him something to think about.”

Taking Jackson’s hand in mine, I pull us into the lecture building and ignore how much I like holding his hand.

“Where is he?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.

Jackson bends low and whispers near my ear. “Balding guy near the front in the orange shirt.”

There’s space in the row in front of Cameron, so I tug Jackson along by the hand and, once seated, I make a show of sitting close to him and leaning my head on his shoulder.

When Jackson drapes his arm across the back of my chair, I smile up at him. In my periphery, Cameron raises an eyebrow when he notices us, and I turn my gaze fully back to the front of the room.

“He noticed,” I murmur low, and Jackson squeezes my shoulder.

As the talk begins, I expect Jackson to withdraw his arm and take notes or something, but he doesn’t.

Tapping his knee for his attention, he tilts his head down.

“I just need to step out for a few minutes. I’ll be back.”

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