Page 81 of The Last Goodbye

nineteen

​. . .​

Bass

I insisted on walking her home after we’d enjoyed the strawberry shortcake I’d prepared for her, and damn, if watching this woman eat cake wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

The way she’d licked the Chantilly cream off the tip of her thumb.

Or the way she’d laughed and talked all while devouring her slice.

Or perhaps it was that fucking kiss.

The many “one and dones” I’d had in my life were always a safe bet. But crossing that line with Briar was definitely a mistake, because that kiss was going to be etched in my mind forever.

“Well, thank you for tonight,” she said as we walked side by side toward her house, the back of her hand brushing against mine. “It’s the best non-date I’ve ever had.”

Her dress bustled in the breeze, and I longed to run my hands down her buttery skin again.

“Agreed. But we’re friends, so it’s not like we can’t continue sharing meals. We work together, after all.” I cleared my throat as we came to a stop in front of her house. I could hear the desperation in my voice, making me feel slightly unhinged.

“You’re right. We can share as many meals as we want. We’re friends. And we got that kiss out of our systems, right? Thank goodness. I’m sure we won’t ever think about it again,” she said, speaking faster than normal as she flailed her arms around before continuing to ramble. “I mean, we’ll probably hate one another by tomorrow morning. This means nothing. We’re fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Loud laughter rumbled from my chest. I tugged her forward and tipped her body back before leaning down and planting one more kiss on those sweet lips.

It was short and chaste and necessary.

“Good night, Magpie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her mouth fell open, and she stepped back. “That was unexpected. What did you do that for?”

“To shut you up. You were spiraling.” I snorted.

She continued walking backward toward her front door, an adorable smile painted on her face. “I was not. But what do you know…I’m already annoyed with you. Good night, McGrumpy. Thanks for the non-date and the one-time kiss that you managed to do twice.”

“Never met a rule I didn’t enjoy breaking.”

She put the key in the door and turned around to look at me. “Why are you still standing there?”

“I’m waiting for you to get inside and lock the door.” I raised an eyebrow. “Go.”

“So bossy,” she said, her laugh lingering as she shut the door.

I walked back to my boat.

Tonight was not what I’d expected.

I was definitely in trouble with this woman.

Big fucking trouble.

We’d arrived in Fort Worth, Texas, for Cannon’s PBR World Finals yesterday morning.

The arena was already alive long before his name was called. We were up in the stands, halfway down one of the long sections that overlooked the chutes.

From here, everything stretched out in front of us like a dirt-stained theater, with the rough, packed arena floor, churned up from earlier rides, the metal bucking chutes lined up in a row like holding pens, and the bright, almost blinding lights cutting through the haze of dust that never quite settled.

Beyond the arena floor, a sea of cowboy hats filled every seat in every direction. People leaned forward over railings, drinks in hand, all of them waiting for the same thing…the eight seconds that could make or break a man. The noise never really stopped.