Page 55 of One Last Rodeo

“So, this is where you come during your downtime?”

He nods. “Off-season, between events… it’s the only place my brain usually quiets. Feels like I can breathe out here.”

I can see that. The air feels crisper. It's hard to stress about much when this is your view every morning over coffee.

“So…” he says, glancing toward the cabin, “if we go inside, we’ll probably wake Grandma. You want to stay out here for a bit and enjoy the view? I'm not tired yet.”

I nod. I’m not tired either. “Sure.”

He jerks his chin toward the back of the cabin. “Got something to show you. You don’t have to do it. I just think it’d help my shoulder.”

“Okay.”

I follow him through the yard, my wedges sinking into the warm grass that's still slightly damp. There’s so much of it; actual, green grass, not manicured, no pesticides spread on this lawn dotted in dandelions and weeds, not drought-stricken Californiadirt with landscaping gravel pretending to be nature because everything’s too dry.

This grass is soft and lush and wild, and the weirdest part is how much I’m fighting the urge to lie in it, look up at the stars, and let the night swallow me whole. That's something I wouldnevernormallythink to do on account of bugs... and dirt... and, I don't know, whatever else is in grass.

Earthworms?

Out here it feels like a natural thing to do.

We round the side of the cabin, then climb the two steps up onto the back of his grandma's deck. That’s when I see the back of the property for the first time and notice something I didn't know was back here. There’s a hot tub built right into the wooden slats, the far edge dipping toward a small cliff drop-off that the cabin's built into. And it all overlooks the lake that’s resting in the distance.

Steam curls into the night air from the warmth of the tub, making it look magical. The view is beautiful, even in the dark.

“Did you put this in?” I ask.

He nods. “Great for recovery when I’m home. Plus, winters here can be tough. Grandma never uses it, but she just keeps it warm when she knows I'm coming home. I texted and asked her to warm it up for me before we left for the bar.”

"I see."

He reaches for the clip on his shoulder sling and pops it loose. Rolls his shoulder, stretches his arm out slowly, then grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head in one easy motion.

My breath catches. I’ve seen this before, and yet it’s still shocking. Sculpted abs, the deep V I remember from our onenight spent together, even if the hotel room had been dark and rushed and full of bad decisions that we're both pretending didn't happen and we can somehow walk back. The dark outline of that all black, bull tattoo stretched across his strong chest is evident but out here, I can't even see the scar from the tiny incision I made.

Jensen's built like an athlete, which isn't surprising given his career. But this is the first time I've ever looked at an athlete and seen more than a body to treat. More than someone who uses their body as a tool.

When I look at Jensen now, I see the man beneath the muscles and tattoos.

"I know it's hot, but the heat will feel good," he explains as if I need an explanation for him undressing to get into water. He doesn’t need to explain. I’m sure this is good for his recovery.

He unbuttons his jeans. Unzips his pants. Boots get toed off in the corner. He’s still not looking at me, but the smirk that's tugging at the corner of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing and he's aware of me watching. I'm shameless about it. Like a woman starved of affection, physical touch, and the presence of wildly attractive men.

Which yeah, I guess I'm all three of those things. It doesn't help that I had two glasses of wine tonight. A total break in my rules.

He pushes his pants down and steps out of them, kicking them aside until he’s standing in nothing but a pair of dark gray boxers. And there’s no mistaking the outline of him between his legs. I know how it feels to have that inside me. I'm still sore from it. My mouth waters remembering.

“Forgot to bring a swimsuit,” he says casually, his voice still soft and quiet. “No pressure to join me. I’m gonna try and relax thisthing for a bit. Might do a few of the exercises Heath gave me to keep it loose before we head to California.”

Then he sinks into the water. The muscles in his neck and face visibly relax, arms resting wide on the edge of the tub, head tipping back toward the sky as he exhales a low, satisfied “Ah. That feels nice.”

It is nice. A nice view for me.

Tonight was supposed to be… what? A fun distraction? A first date in years that didn’t make me want to claw my skin off. I know for certain that the only reason it was halfway decent was because I knew Jensen was there. Watching me. Protecting me.

Maybe that shouldn’t have made me feel good to know I had his attention, but it did. Perhaps that would seem greedy and selfish to someone else. I've never gotten to be selfish before. Maybe I wanted his eyes on me. Wanted the attention I never got in my last relationship. Wanted to feel… I don't know, attractive? Chosen? Desired?

Maybe I wondered what it'd feel like to have a guy be a little jealous for once. I swear, I never felt like my ex was ever protective of me around other men. He couldn’t have cared less if they'd looked, which, to be honest, I'm not sure they ever did in my black scrubs and tight bun.