Page 48 of One Last Rodeo

“Your big head." I flick his cheek playfully. It doesn't land the way I thought it would. Instead, my fingers end up grazing the stubble on his jaw. He chuckles.

"It’s hard to miss your size. You take up half of first class.”

His grin deepens.

“Stop smiling like that! I’m not complimenting you. It’s just a fact.” He’s right. I do point out how big he is too much. That's something I'll work on stopping.

He shifts, turning toward me, shoulder brushing mine. “So, you got a match then?”

I nod. “I did. I texted June to ask what happens next and she said I’m supposed to message him and make a date.”

"Wait. This guy's located in Nashville?" He looks surprised by that, and a small part of me feels guilty, which makes no sense because I don't owe him anything. We agreed. He agreed. It was one time, and we were both very clear about what’s at risk for me. It can’t happen again. I left. I stood in the hallway. He didn’t follow me.

"Yeah."

His brows rise, thick and expressive, doing something complicated that I can't quite read. "So, you used me to get to Nashville for your date?”

I roll my eyes. "June told me to select the city I was going to be in next, so I put in Nashville since that's where we're headed." I pause. "That's just geography. That's not—I didn't plan this around you."

"Sure."

"Jensen."

He smiles. "I'm going to tell Grandma that you used her grandson," he says. There’s teasing in his tone now, but something underlying that tells me maybe he isn’t as cool with this as he’s pretending to be.

"Please don't tell your grandma. I haven't even met the woman yet. I'd like her to have a neutral opinion of me before I walk through her door."

He laughs, shaking his head a little. "So, where are you two going?"

"Some bar he likes. Boots and Bevvies, I think."

He stares at the seat back in front of him for a beat too long. I watch him do it and wait for him to say something. He offers up nothing.

"What?" I ask. "Is it any good?"

"It's fine. Good music. Gets loud on weekends." He pauses. "So, Brock?"

I nod. “Yeah.”

"Brock," he repeats, like he's filing it away for later.

"He seems normal. I sent his profile to June to vet right after we matched.”

"June also set you up with a dating profile at eleven o'clock at night after two glasses of wine," he says. "Her vetting process might need some peer review."

That's fair. I don't say that.

There's something in his expression that I don’t understand. I can't read what he’s thinking. There’s something sitting just behind his smile that's a little too tight for the usually loose-limbed, unbothered guy who rides bulls for a living. I notice it, but I’m not sure what to do about it.

I don't know what I expected. We both agreed it was one time. He said it first or maybe I did. The sequence is blurring now and the agreement made sense then and it still makes sense now. We work together. I'm technically his doctor. We're wildly incompatible by every measurable metric I care about. The fact that I haven't fully stopped thinking about it since Denver is just residual chemistry left behind from the first good orgasm I’ve had in years. That's biology, not meaning.

You simply can’t make decisions based on how well a guy eats pussy. Plus, it’s not like Jensenwantsto date me anyway.

"Well," I say, because the silence is starting to feel loaded, "I'll go after we have dinner with your grandma. She shouldn't mind, right?"

I don't ask ifheminds. Because he shouldn't. And because I'm a little afraid of what his face might do if I ask him directly.

"She goes to bed by seven," he says. "We can leave after."