Page 25 of Hidden Memories

“Top prize. Third in roping, but I’m rusty.”

“When are you going to teach me to rope?”

Fuck, I would tie this woman up so fast…

I haven’t asked her out because I went from being numb to feeling a whole hell of a lot very quickly. I’m wary of it. I saw what happened to my sister, Shay, when she got into a relationship quickly with some hockey player from our hometown after Mom passed. It didn’t work out. Now my sister is broken in two spots. I’ve trod lightly these past couple of meetings, but that old reckless nature of mine is creeping back in.

“I’ll teach you to rope.” I crouch next to her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something sweet and warm. “But you can’t bring your hard hat and high vis.”

She whacks me with her notepad. “Sue me for caring about my brain.”

I chuckle, stealing the moment to take her in—the flush of her cheeks, the way she nibbles at her bottom lip, the way her fingertips linger on the notepad like she’s grounding herself.

“What are you drawing today?” I ask, my voice rough with everything I’m not saying.

She lifts her notepad. I lean in, eyes tracking the gentle smudges of color, the way the pastels blend like warm mist on the page.

“I’m trying to perfect the grasses.” She pats the space next to her.

God, do I want to be there. Being in her gravity is the most grounded I’ve ever felt.

When I sit, she bumps into my side, playful and deliberate.Like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Flirting without words.

Her fingertips brush my knee, lingering longer than necessary. She shifts, her thigh barely skimming mine, a featherlight tease that shoots heat straight through me.

Then, the final blow—she reaches up and snatches my hat from my head, plopping it onto her own.

“You think you can just steal my hat like that?” I say, low and dark, tilting my head, letting my gaze drag over her, lingering on the way it shadows those bright blue eyes.

She shrugs, mischief dancing across her features. “Guess you’ll have to take it back.”

Fuck me, she wants to play…

Every nerve in my body begs me to close the distance, to claim what’s being offered, to taste that teasing smirk off her lips.

But this isn’t just a game for me.

I want her. Not just for a night, not just for the temporary relief of tangled sheets and gasped names in the dark. I want her in ways that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her.

Still, I have to tap into every ounce of self-control not to pin her beneath me, to taste every inch of her, to fill my hands with her curves and make her scream my name loud enough to send the birds flying straight from this tree.

But I hold back. For the first time in my life, I don’t rush in.

Because this? This isn’t the same as a fling.

And that scares the hell out of me.

But I still leave my hat on her head.

She leans over to grab her backpack, and when she does, her ass pushes into my thigh. Her peachy cheek would be a perfectfit for my palm.

“I got you a present.”

She rustles through her backpack, takes out a tiny box and hands it to me.

“You got me oil pastels?” I ask.

“Yeah, you seem to be taking a real interest in art, and maybe it’s time you have a crack at it.”

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