Page 122 of Wingwoman
That was a long pause for a short sentence. I took pride in that little victory.
But he wasn’t wrong. Luckily, I knew this was exactly what would bug Brent. And I had my response locked and loaded.
Hope:
No, I hated being pushed aside for the spotlight. Josh doesn’t do that.
It was true too. Josh embraced me in the spotlight. Included me.
I still didn’t love it. I wasn’t comfortable being the center of attention. But at least I didn’t feel forgotten when I was with him.
Nothing. No response.
Shit. Even though I’d had that response prepared for days, maybe it was the wrong tactic. Not breezy enough. Too blame-happy.
Gulping, my thumbs flew across my keyboard wildly as I typed out another response.
Hope:
Not that it matters, it all worked out in the end. We’ve both found happiness, right?
I held my breath, waiting.
Three little dots appeared. My phone pinged with his response.
Brent:
Right.
Right.
But did he mean it?
And did I care?
Were Maxie and Carrow right that I was way too obsessed with him? And if he came crawling back, would I forget the plan to say no and embrace him once more?
My thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock at the door, startling me so much I nearly dropped my phone.
I stole one last glance in the mirror, grinning at the gorgeous outfit Bonnie had picked out for me. Denim shirt. Paired with a feminine, pale-pink skirt that cascaded to my ankles in waves of tule.
I felt like Carrie Bradshaw in the outfit as I twirled around her store. Paired with the Louboutin boots? It was utter perfection.
Made for a rodeo gala.
I opened the door and swallowed my gasp at Josh standing there. His bolo tie was an unexpected accessory to the otherwise simple, designer suit.
And of course, his cowboy boots. Formal ones, it seemed.
“I have something for you,” he said. His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine.
I arched my brow. He’d already apologized about Jenn’s appearance downstairs multiple times, claiming she’d just shown up.
I stepped aside, allowing him to enter and as he did, he pulled one hand out from behind his back and plopped a hat onto my head, grinning.
A smile cracked through my otherwise icy demeanor and I spun to the mirror to examine my reflection. "A cowboy hat?"
"We're going to a rodeo," he said simply, his other hand still nestled at the small of his back as he followed me to the mirror. "A cowboy hat is required attire."
