Page 9 of Sexting the Cowboy
As soon as he’s gone, I sit on the stool and press my palms against my thighs until the tremor in them settles. Seeing Reno hit harder than I wanted it to. He’s a walking reminder of the line between saving someone and losing yourself in the process.
Back then, I thought love could fix the parts of him that were broken. I thought being patient would teach him to be kind. I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, the drinking would stop being the thing that came first.
I was wrong.
The sound of laughter outside pulls me back. I stand, shake my hands out, and start tidying up the counter again, stacking what doesn’t need stacking just to feel busy. The flap opens again, and this time I brace myself—but it’s not Reno. It’s Mac.
She sweeps in like a storm of sunshine, sunglasses perched on her nose, camera slung across her chest, and two paper cups clutched in her hands. Her hair’s twisted into a messy knot that somehow looks intentional, and her grin is all teeth.
“Dr. Pearl in her element,” she says, setting one cup on the table. “Look at you, saving cowboys and melting in the process.”
“Don’t make fun of the sweat. It’s part of the look.”
“I call ithot disaster chic. Works for you.”
The coffee’s still warm. I take a sip, nearly groan in relief, and give her a grateful look. “You’re a saint.”
“I know.” She takes a slow drink of her own. “So, what’s new? Besides you looking like you just saw the ghost of rodeos past.”
I blink. “You saw him?”
“Reno? Yeah. Hard to miss. He was half carrying some drunk guy earlier. I filmed a bit of it for B-roll. He looked…responsible, which was weird.”
“Responsible’s a stretch. He brought the guy in here.”
Mac leans on the counter, curious. “Why?”
“He said the drunk guy needed help.” I blow out a slow breath. “It was…weird. He’s still him. Just older. Still has that smirk that makes you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.”
“Classic problem,” she says, amused. “Did he flirt?”
“Kind of. I think. Mostly insulted me, then told me I looked good.”
“That’s flirting in cowboy.”
I laugh. “You might be right.”
“So, how do you feel?”
I shrug. “Like I should’ve taken a different job.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. Like I’m stuck in a time loop. Every smell, every sound—it’s all the same as when I used to wait in the stands for him. Only now, I’m stitching people instead of cheering.”
Mac studies me quietly for a moment, then bumps my shoulder. “You’re doing good, Annie. You’re building something. You left for a reason. Don’t let nostalgia rewrite the ending.”
“I’m not nostalgic.”
“Sure.”
I give her a look. “I’mnot.”
“Okay, okay.” She grins. “Anyway, your ex aside, this place is wild. The footage I’m getting is incredible. Did you see Brick Wyatt ride earlier? The crowd lost their minds.”
“I heard.”
“The man’s like fifty and still looks like he was carved out of a whiskey barrel. Total fox.”
