Page 12 of The Cowboy's Friendly Wake-Up Call

"Mer--" He suddenly takes a step forward, but the doors close completely, cutting him off before he can even finish the first syllable of my name.

When the doors don't open back up, and I hear the mechanisms inside working to pull the car up to the higher floors, I finally let myself exhale.

Settling into an overstuffed arm chair in the lobby, I pull out my phone and try to distract myself.

We've been friends since we were six. It's not the first awkward moment between us. Just the first time one of us got caught up in a moment and tried to kiss the other one.

It's not going to end our friendship. Probably. But I suddenly wish we had those separate rooms.

Half an hour later, my phone buzzes with a message from Lance saying the shower's all mine.

When I unlock the door to our room, he's standing in front of the mirror, expertly pulling his tie into a neat bow.

He's shaved the day's worth of shadow off his jaw, and is fully dressed, except for the jacket and the polished, black cowboy boots sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Hope I left you enough time," he chides, poking a little fun at me for needing time to do more than throw my hair in a ponytail and brush my teeth for a change.

Lance brushes past me as I switch places with him and head for the shower.

He smells like the leather and spice scent of the cologne he's been wearing since high school and I'm struck by how I've come to associate the scent with manliness.

He even put product in his hair, that wax that he works through it when he's feeling fancy, that leaves his hair looking not quite combed.

"Get out so I can get ready," I give a playful shove to his arm, not at all shocked by the solid muscle hidden under the fancy dress shirt.

It's just not fair how fast a man can get ready. Lance sits on the end of the bed to slip his boots on, then stands and slides his arms into the tuxedo jacket.

Definitely not a rental. The tux is cut way too perfectly to fit his muscular physique, and break just right across the boots.

Not that I'm surprised, the O'Leary's are the richest ranch family in Slow River, they don't need to rent their suits.

Funny. I never really think about that. To me, Lance is just my best friend. A guy I've known since we were kids. Part of a good family with brothers that give each other hell and always have each other's backs. Just another valley rancher with a Stetson that's got at least one permanent hoof print on it, and calluses on his hands.

Looking at the man standing in front of me now, twenty years of platonic friendship flies right out the window. Butterflies I never knew were living in my stomach suddenly get restless, and heat pools between my thighs in a way I've never experienced before-- certainly not while looking at Lance O'Leary.

"You clean up okay there, O'Leary." I joke with a long whistle, doing my best to play off the feelings blooming inside me that I'm not sure what to do with yet.

"That's what Ma tells me."

The wink that accompanies his half grin is the same one he's been shooting at me for years, but suddenly, it looks less like the playful old friend I've been joking around with forever, and more like the panty-melting man that the girls around town make heart eyes at when he's hanging out at the bar while I work.

"I'll come back up and get you at seven." Lance reaches for his hat out of habit before seeming to decide against it, running his hand through his hair instead.

"I thought dinner starts at seven?"

"They open the doors and start seating at seven, they won't start serving till later. We can be late."

"Okay then. I'll see you back here at seven."

Finally, he steps out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him as he does; giving me a chance to breathe.

Lance

This hotel's not fancy by comparison to some places I've stayed in big cities, but it's nice enough to have a bar and a small, homestyle restaurant in it.

Of course-- the dinner tonight will be in the banquet room down the hall, seeing as how we never got around to building the convention hall over at the expo site.

A drink sounds like a bad idea; things are feeling weird between me and Mercy. She's giving me signals that have my brain all mixed up, all the lines that have defined our friendship over the years feel like they're getting blurred.

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