Page 37 of Perfect Cowboy

“Do you need any help?” he asks, his voice rough.

“No,” I manage, my throat suddenly bone dry.

He takes a few steps closer and winces when he rolls his shoulders.

“What happened?”

He shrugs and gives me a grin. “I was rushing to unload everything. I’m getting old now. I’ll probably be laid up for weeks.”

Maybe he’s going to stop being a miserable prick so that our forced confinement together isn’t an awkward punishment.

I lower the heat on the stove and move the contents of the wok around aimlessly. But all I’m doing is trying to conjure up my courage. I spin again and close the rest of the distance between us, keeping my gaze firmly on his.

“What hurts?” I ask, remembering when I used to be so easy and comfortable in his presence, touching him without thinking twice about it.

“Everything.”

I tentatively step behind him and set my hands on his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles. But the relaxing motions have the opposite effect, and Gavin’s entire body stiffens.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m fine.”

“It’s the least I can do. You were doing all of that work for me.”

“It was busy on the ranch, too. It’s not your fault, and you’re not obligated to me for anything.”

He takes a step away, but I keep my hands on him and follow, switching my attention to his neck. My thumb finds a muscle knot and I gently massage it. When he lets out a soft groan of pure relief, butterflies take flight in my stomach.

I remember every one of his sounds.

And I still crave them.

“It’s in my best interest to keep you in tip-top shape,” I joke. “Who else is going to take care of things around here?”

“Ashley, it’s okay, you–”

“Gavin, shut up. I’m doing it because I want to, okay?” I push him a few steps toward the stove. “You stir and I’ll rub. Deal?”

“Alright,” he says roughly. “Fuck, you never give up. Well, almost never.”

My hands still, but I quickly recover and continue massaging and stretching the muscles in his neck.

I know exactly what he’s talking about, of course I do, but he’s not actually asking why I left and had no contact with him.

Maybe he never will because he assumes that he already knows the truth.

But if he does ask me, am I going to answer and finally be honest about everything?

The thought clenches my insides in a vice grip. Does it even matter after all this time? I never thought I’d see him again or have to face the painful truth, but now that I’m back and we’re in the same place, the secrets are suffocating.

He isn’t the only one who ended up hurt and disappointed.

And I’m not the only one who has some explaining to do.

I’d be lying if I said that I never thought about him over the years. How it would feel to be with him now that we’re adults instead of lovesick teenagers.

But I never thought I’d get the chance to make it happen.

Even if it’s true that he hates me, surely he must feel the same pull of attraction, the same buzz of sexual energy that I’m experiencing.

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