Page 34 of Sexting the Cowboy

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“For not making this weird.”

He chuckles, slow and warm. “Doc, I hate to break it to you, but it was already weird. You just made it interesting.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Too late.”

I can hear him shifting, probably leaning back in some hotel chair. There’s the faint sound of a television somewhere, muffled. “So,” he says. “You been thinking about me?”

I roll my eyes. “You really never stop.”

“Answer the question.”

“I’ve been thinking about quitting this job.”

“Liar.”

“Why do people keep calling me that today?”

“Because you’re bad at it.”

“I’m excellent at it.”

“You’re terrible,” he says, laughing. “You get this little hitch in your voice every time you fib. I bet you had to study extra hard in med school just to hide your tells.”

“Brick.”

“Yeah?”

“Stop analyzing me.”

Even his chuckle sends vibrations down my spine. “I can’t. It’s fun.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you like it.”

“God help me,” I say, but I’m smiling. He makes it impossible not to.

There’s a pause, a soft hum of air through the line. “Long day?”

“The longest.”

“Tell me about it.”

So I do. I tell him about the heat, the stubborn riders, the exhaustion that sinks into your bones. He listens, really listens, only breaking in to ask a question or laugh at the right spots. When I finish, I realize I’m lighter. Like saying it out loud cleared room for something else. “You’re easy to talk to.”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Probably.” He clears his throat, voice dropping again. “You still mad at me for flirting?”

“I’m mad at myself for enjoying it.”

“That’s not a no.”

I bite my lip. “No. But I think it’s inappropriate.”

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