Page 86 of Strung Along

“Only if you pick the worst one there is. I want ultimate cheese, Buttercup.”

“Now we’re talking,” I say, sorting through a few more movies before choosing one.

His laugh is loud, soaring from deep in his belly. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

The opening credits flash across the screen before the title appears.A Cowboy’s Christmas Wish. My stomach cramps from holding back a laugh.

“This is going to be brutal,” he muses.

“You don’t think it’s going to be incredibly accurate to your real life?” I ask, feigning shock.

He stretches his legs out, resting his feet on the ottoman. My heart jolts when he grips my thigh and drapes it over his lap, keeping his hand firmly in place after I’m settled. “I’ll try not to pick it apart too much for you.”

“Go ahead. I love ripping apart movies.”

And that’s exactly what we do. For the next hour and a half, we make notes on everything in the movie, belting out in unattractive, loud laughter at the cheesy dialogue and terrible acting. I’m half sprawled over his body, cheek pressed to his sternum and knee nestled between both of his by the time the couple rides off on the back of a horse together, hooves kicking up snow behind them.

“So, do all cowboys naturally know how to dance?” I tease, drawing swirls with my fingertip over the thick muscles of his abdomen as I recall the repeated theme of line dancing in the movie.

I’ve never felt abs like Brody’s before. Stewart was fit but not this muscled. Brody’s body has been honed by hard labour and whatever it is he does to keep in shape in Nashville. Weightlifting, if the steel cut of his biceps is anything to go off.

He continues playing with my hair, alternating between twirling pieces around his fingers and scratching my scalp. “Fuck no. But my grandma put a lot of time into ensurin’ I could hold my own. Was I decent enough of a partner the other night?”

“More than decent, actually.” Resting my chin on his chest, I look upward, catching his waiting stare. “You know there are pictures of us online now, right?”

“I know. You okay with that?”

“I don’t have much of a social presence, so I’m not too concerned for me.”

“But you are for me?” he asks, although it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“Should I be?”

“You can’t answer a question with another question.”

I laugh softly. “I think you’re a grown man, and if you weren’t confident enough about us to be photographed together, you wouldn’t have put us in a position to be. It’s my own self-doubt that’s the problem.”

Like the reoccurring, pestering thought that I’m not good enough to be seen beside him. Or that he won’t remember me once he’s gone. That I’ll be a memory he won’t bother recalling.

Brody guides me up his body, bringing us face to face. I ignore the flutter in my stomach and focus on listening to the words he speaks. “If I ever meet the man who’s behind the worry in your eyes, baby, I swear to fuck I’ll ruin him.”

“I’d like to see that,” I admit. Give me caveman and ultra-protectiveness. I’ll never turn down the chance to watch this man protect my honour. Fists or words, it wouldn’t matter.

He cups my jaw so, so softly, as if he’s suddenly afraid I’ll crumble to dust in his palm. “Never been prouder to be seen with a woman than I have been with you. That’s the truth, Anna. I’ve just been tryin’ not to scare you.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t scare easily, then.”

His smile reaches his eyes this time, almost unnaturally beautiful. “Yeah, I’m learnin’ that.”

The credits continue to roll, doodles decorating the black screen. One in particular of a short, fluffy animal catches my eye, and I can’t stop myself before I’m switching gears, blurting out, “Do you have any fluffy cows at the ranch?”

Brody’s chest begins to shake with laughter beneath me. “Fluffy cows? No. I don’t think we ever have.”

“Not even one as a pet?”

“The sky would fall before my grandfather took cattle as pets, sweetheart.”

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