Page 20 of Owned By The Cowboy
The way he says it makes my stomach flutter. Like he’s been thinking about where I live, maybe thinking about coming over for late-night visits.
“Right. Well. Four-thirty tomorrow, then.”
“Four-thirty.”
We’re both just standing there now, the rest of the family continuing their conversation around us while we stare like we’re trying to memorize each other’s faces.
“I should go,” he says finally. “Early morning tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks for dinner, Sarah,” he calls out. “Mel.”
“Anytime, son,” Daddy says. “You know you’re always welcome.”
“Bye, Blayne!” Annalise waves from her chair. “Don’t forget about our dance!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies with a smile, and the gentleness in his voice when he talks to her does something dangerous to my heart.
I walk him to the door, very aware of Mama’s interested gaze following us.
“Thank you,” I say quietly when we reach the porch. “For saying yes. You didn’t have to do that.”
“She’s a good kid,” he says. “Deserves to go to her dance.”
“Still. It means a lot. To both of us.”
We’re standing close now, close enough that I can smell his scent, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his pale eyes. Close enough that if I just leaned forward a little…
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
“Tomorrow.”
He heads down the porch steps to his truck, and I watch him go, admiring the way his jeans hug his magnificent ass, the confidence in his stride. When he reaches the truck, Blayne turns back, and I realize I’ve been standing there staring at him like a teenager with a crush.
“Four-thirty,” he calls out.
“Four-thirty,” I confirm, and he nods one last time before climbing in his car.
I stay on the porch until his taillights disappear down the road.
An hour later, we’re packed into my SUV heading home.
“So, Blayne’s really going to take you to the dance?” Nia asks from the backseat.
“Yes!” Annalise practically shouts. “And we’re going to dance to all the songs, and I’m going to wear sparkles!”
“It’s weird,” Nia says bluntly. “Like, why would he want to do that?”
“Because he’s nice,” Annalise says with the confidence of a six-year-old.
“Nobody’s that nice,” Nia mutters.
“Maybe he likes Mom,” Jaylen mumbles from the passenger seat, and I nearly swerve off the road.
“What?”
“I’m just saying. Dude was looking at you all night like you were dessert or something.”
