Page 59 of A Bittersweet Summer

Rain hits the roof overhead, dripping onto the side of my soaked jeans.

When Wes’s hand lands on my thigh, a few inches higher than my knee, a shuddering breath escapes me. Heat works its way back through my belly, and I find myself right back where we were—pressed against the round bale in a thunderstorm.

“The barn will be busy when we get back,” he says, tossing me a regretful look.

I nod, thumbing the hem of my t-shirt.

“We aren’t done here,” he swears, his thumb circling in a way that drives me crazy.

When we pull the golf cart into the barn, the horses inside stomp and shout as we get to work.

It isn’t until I leave that evening, Wes tied up with Rosemary at the breeding barn, that I realize the heat in my blood never quite left. It simmers beneath the surface, waiting to escape.

As I lie in bed, I stare at his number, debating texting him or maybe even calling.

Instead, I open his social media, finding the account that liked my photo so many weeks ago.

There’s not much there, a couple of photos of some yearlings that didn’t make it to the regular sale a few years ago, a picture of Rosemary standing atop the barn with her arms stretched wide as autumn leaves fall around her. She looks younger there. Maybe a teenager?

Thehappy birthdaycaption warms something in me.

I settle on one photo at the top of his account.

It’s a picture of Wes staring out at the horses, one leg propped up on the fence with his cowboy hat blocking out the bright sun.

I stare at it way too long before giving up, turning over on my side, trusting sleep to bring me right back to that round bale—right back to a world where Wes’s body fit perfectly against mine.

Sixteen

Wes

“You seem distracted.”

I pull up on the girth, tightening it until I’m certain no children will be sliding off the side of their horse. Lady hasgotten pretty round recently, and I’d hate to lose a student to a loose saddle.

When I look over the top of the pony in cross ties to find Rosemary staring at me, her arms crossed and her back leaning against the wall, I raise my brows. “No,” I lie.

The truth is, I’ve been irrationally distracted since yesterday afternoon.

I’d spent so much time weighing the risks and rewards of giving in with Cass, the whole experiment started to go fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could no longer see the scales. I couldn’t remember what risks even existed—not in the wake of her searing gaze, her palpable disappointment, and that final plea for me to touch her.

Please, Wes.

My restraint snapped. I’m certain the scales tipped one direction or another, but I can’t seem to be bothered with assessing the outcome.

If I’m being honest, I’ve let a lot of fears hold me back, and I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to compare Cassidy to past relationships.

All that remains is the ghost of Cass’s lips on mine, the way my mind could replicate the sensation so clearly in those first few hours. With each passing minute, however, the sensation fades, leaving me wanting my next fix.

Unfortunately, the barn is busy today.

“You’re lying,” Roe says, pushing off the wall to stand at Lady’s side. She gives the pony a pat on the neck, cooing about how cute she is, and how she shouldn’t feel bad about fewer treats. It all happens to the best of us, and she’s still a perfect lesson horse.

“No reason to lie,” I say, knowing damn well there are a lot of reasons to lie to Rosemary—pretty much all the time.

For starters, she’s meddlesome. She’s never kept a secret in her life, and I haven’t had a spare minute to talk to Cassidy to gauge where things stand after the kiss.

“I think,” she says, leaning forward slightly and annunciating thekto be sure I’m listening. “You’ve forgotten how nosey Walton is. That man gossips so much, I’m certain he worked in a hair salon in a past life.”