Page 12 of Sexting the Cowboy
I take a longer sip of my drink, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s trying hard not to meet my gaze. There’s something there—interest, maybe, buried under all thatstubbornness. I’ve been around long enough to recognize when a woman’s trying to talk herself out of wanting something. She starts scrolling through her phone again, probably pretending I don’t exist.
I can’t resist. “What’s a woman like you doing alone at a lemonade stand on a day like this?”
“Hydrating,” she says dryly.
“Hydrating’s good. Talking to strangers while hydrating’s better.”
“You’re not a stranger. Just strange.”
“Ouch,” I tease, pressing a hand to my chest. “That hurt my feelings.”
“Good. Maybe they needed the exercise.”
I take one step closer, close enough that the brim of my hat casts a bit of shade across her face. “You always this mean, or is it just for me?”
She looks up then, eyes meeting mine, sharp and bright and unflinching. “You bring it out of me.”
I grin. “That sounds like flirting.”
“It’s not.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then you won’t mind if I do this.”
Before she can ask what I mean, I reach for her phone. She gasps, tries to pull it back, but I’m faster. I hold it just out of reach and thumb it awake.
“Brick Wyatt!” she snaps. “Give that back!”
“Just putting my number in for when you’re in a better mood,” I say, grinning while I type.
“You’re out of your damn mind.”
“Comes with the job description.” I hand it back. “There. Now if you ever need help finding that smile again, you know who to call.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide whether to slap me or laugh. “What if I’m never in a better mood?”
“Then you should definitely text me,” I say. “Because I’m real good at changing moods.”
She laughs then, real and bright, and the sound hits somewhere deep in my chest. She tries to cover it with a mock glare, but she’s already blushing. “God, you’re cocky.”
“I prefer confident.”
“I prefer quiet.”
“Good luck finding that around here,” I say, taking another sip. “Noise and chaos are part of the charm.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but someone calls her name—Jaden, the nurse from earlier, waving her over from across the midway. She turns toward him, relief flashing across her face.
“Saved by the bell,” I say.
She hesitates, then nods once, conceding the point. “Thanks for the drink, Wyatt.”
“My pleasure, Doc.”
She starts to walk away, and I can’t help watching. She’s got this confident stride, the kind of walk that says she knows how to handle herself even when the ground’s uneven. She turns once halfway down the path, catches me still looking, and rolls her eyes.
