Page 21 of Cowboy's Way

“They’re probably in my boat,” he says with a shrug. “Have you been on a motorcycle before?”

When I shake my head, he quickly explains that I need to watch out for the muffler, but I narrow my eyes at him when he continues. The whole, wrapping myself tightly around him seems a little self-serving to me.

For the quick ride to my place, I know I’m overly stiff, worried about burning my leg, but not nearly as worried as when he follows me into my house.

“What?” he asks, looking way too innocent before crossing his finger over his heart. “I won’t touch a thing.”

After the thorn, I’m in no mood to apologize again, so I simply nod before going to change.

“Are you a chef, by any chance?” he asks when I rejoin him.

“No. I mean, I love to watch cooking shows and experimenting in the kitchen. But no, it’s just kind of a hobby I want to get better at, I guess.”

It’s obvious that he wants to ask me about a dozen other questions, instead, he just motions toward the door.

“You don’t have to lock it, y’know. No one’s going to bother you way out here.”

“Have you forgotten?” I ask in a teasing voice as I secure the second deadbolt. “I’m a city girl.”

“That you are.” Somehow, the long, slow journey that his eyes make from the tips of my rhinestone cowgirl boots up to my neckline turn what once sounded like a slur to best compliment I’ve ever received.

Chapter 7

Cowboy

Well, today’s been interesting and it’s not even noon yet.

I used to feel like time was just zooming past me, but since I met Faith it’s moving at a snail’s pace. A snail needing to swerve suddenly to avoid sinkholes, that is.

I’ve heard about people having meltdowns, I just had never witnessed one until an hour ago.

What I still can’t get over is how that woman was still drop dead gorgeous with swollen red eyes and a running nose as she bounced between crying or laughing every other second.

Could I live with her organizing my kitchen? Sure, no big deal.

I didn’t love opening my dresser to find every piece of my clothes folded and organized by color. That was a bit much for me. I mean, who the fuck folds underwear?

Then, I made it into my bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet over the sink to discover an entire shelf of dental floss and it hit me: maybe having one place for things would stop me from buying new floss every time I had something stuck in my teeth.

Bruno running into my room and striking the downward dog pose while letting out an urgent bark was when I realized Faith was heading home. But now, here we are with her arms wrapped around my waist as we’re turning onto the highway.

What’s bothering me now is that I honestly care about her, and I’m hoping that she’s into me for more than riding my face. And then there’s that other thing …

Whatever the hell it is she’s running from. I now not only have to protect both my club and my woman, but I have to track down her ex and make that son of a bitch pay for how he treated her.

Two steps into one of my favorite burger joints in the state, and I’m suddenly anxious that it’s not quite what Faith is used to. Then her hand slides into mine and as I look down at her, my heart does that weird beating thing again.

“I need to pee,” she whispers. “Can you get me a cheeseburger—no tomatoes or mayo?”

“What do you want to drink?” I ask and her eyes shift up to the menu board beyond the ‘Order Here’ sign.

“A chocolate malt, please,” she quickly answers, and just as she was tugging her hand out of mine, I pull her in for a light kiss, appreciating the hell out of the fact she’s not asking for a diet soda in a place like this.

What I don’t appreciate is that every man in the place is eye-fucking her. Turning to the counter, the pimpled-face teenager waiting to take my order mumbles something under his breath.

“What’s that?”

“I wanna be you when I get older,” he says, unable to lift his eyes up to meet mine. “What would you like today?”

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