Page 39 of Eight Second Hearts

He presses another quick kiss to my lips before standing up. “I’ll go get Beau to help.” He stands up and steps down the hay bales but stops after a single step. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a pen. “I nabbed this for you,” he says as he holds it out to me.

I pause, staring at the simple pen inscribed with the rodeo name. “You stole a pen for me?”

He nods. “From the bar. I noticed you collect them.” At my wide-eyed look, he grins. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed how large your pen collection is in your laptop bag,periodista. You steal pens everywhere we go. Hell,TíaJosie has been purposely leaving an extra pen at the table for you.”

I flush. “I didn’t realize anyone had noticed.”

“Oh, we noticed,” he laughs. “It’s cute. Go on. Take it.”

I pluck the pen from his fingers and study it. “Itisa very nice pen.”

“I know,” he grins. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

And then he leaves me there beside his drunk friend, the taste of his beer on my lips, my heart thumping painfully in my chest.

Shit.

Chapter 24

Indie

It isn’t often I realize I’m in a dangerous situation outside of a war zone. Sure, as a woman, I’ve dealt with men following me down the street, men not accepting no for an answer. But I’ve long since learned to take care of myself in that aspect.

This? I’m not prepared for this.

I’ve spent a significant part of my life being around attractive men, interviewing them, spending intimate moments with them. Hell, I’ve had to pee in front of military dudes while they kept a look out. But there’s something about the three men I find as my current subjects that keeps getting under my skin.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s unprofessional. It’s not technically against any rules, not really. I’m sure Frank would tell me to get the story at any cost. But. . .at some point, I’m less concerned with getting the story than I am thinking about the way they kiss. And for fuck’s sake, I’ve kissed two out of three of them. What the hell am I thinking?

At some point, Beau and Ram carry Tripp back to the truck and we head back to the hotel. Bilbo thumps his tail happily when we return, but doesn’t bother getting up until they dump Tripp on the bed. Only then does he get up and cuddle next tohis human. Tripp doesn’t wake up during the entire trip, snoring away.

The next morning, Ram is the one who sets a bottle of pills on the table and throws the sheets off of Tripp. He’s a little worse for wear, but then again, so am I.

“You look like you didn’t get enough sleep,” Ram comments as I scrub at my face. “You sure you’re gonna be okay today?”

I study my reflection. “I think my dark undereye circles are adding to the aesthetic actually,” I muse. I don’t bother putting on any makeup. I’m not trying to win any beauty pageants, and honestly, I’m too tired to bother with it.

We make our way toTíaJosie’s restaurant where she immediately brings Tripp out a large plate of greasy food with an instruction to eat. He sits on the other side of the table, his head in his hands, his sunglasses his best attempt at blocking out the light. I don’t remember the last time I was hungover—I have an aversion to it now—but I don’t envy him the way he feels. I wonder how often this happens, if it’s common enough that I’ll witness it again.

Beau and Ram both seem perfectly fine this morning. Ram is dressed in his normal outfit, his little red sun bolo tie done up neat and ready for a day of bronc riding. I don’t know how Tripp is gonna handle it, but if anyone can get him in shape before it’s time, it’s Ram. Ram sips his coffee and cleans his plate, smiling brightly atTíaJosie when she comes out to check on everyone.

As for Beau, you wouldn’t even know he’d stayed up late last night. His face is bright and chipper. He jokes with the waiter andTíaJosie, always the life of the party. His heart-shaped sunglasses sit on top of his head, pushing back his messy dirty blond hair. He’s not wearing his hot pink jacket right now, but he is wearing a cropped white t-shirt that’s so thin, you can see all the details of his tattoos underneath.

“You know, I can see your nipples through your shirt,” I tell him, my eyes crinkled. Never in my life would I think I’d meet a character like Beau. He’s so confident in his own masculinity that he doesn’t even question if he should wear a crop top with his cowboy jeans. I should have expected it considering his rhinestone hot pink leather crop jacket, but here we are with me surprised.

He points his fork at me. “First of all, don’t be ungrateful,” he says with a grin. “Second, you’re welcome.”

I snort. Right now, he also has his signature cigarette tucked behind his ear while he eats. I think it’s the same one that he’s had since yesterday. “So, tell me the story about the cigarette. Are you ever going to light it?”

“Only when I’m on the dirt,” he says around his bite of food. Somehow, he doesn’t make it look rude. After he swallows, he adds, “I don’t smoke unless my life is in danger.”

“Why is that?” I ask. “Why not smoke all the time?”

He shrugs. “I reckon if it’s my time to meet the devil, I might as well have one last cigarette. Just in case. Otherwise, I don’t see any point in smoking. I don’t have any plans on dying.” He gestures to Tripp and Ram. “I can’t leave these two fuckers to fend for themselves. They wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

Tripp doesn’t respond. He just sits and picks at his food, slumped in his seat. Ram, on the other hand, chuckles at Beau. “Yeah, because it’s you keepin’ this gang together.”

---