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“I don’t ‘catch feelings.’ You know this.”
“Right,” he adds, not sounding convinced. He leans against the stall door, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks relaxed, but I know him well enough to know he’s assessing me. “As long as you know what you’re doing.”
“Why do you give a shit about my feelings, anyway?”
“Believe it or not, Chance, I give a shit about you. You’re my best friend, not just my boss. But call me sentimental now that Krissy’s planning her wedding.” He gives me a smirk, letting me know his sister’s engagement last Christmas is anything but the true reason for his interest.
“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Right,” he says again, pushing himself off the stall door. He turns to leave before stopping himself. “Make sure you know what you’re doing. It’s more than just your ass on the line here. If we lose sponsors, lots of us lose jobs.”
With that, he’s gone.
Duke huffs, nudging my shoulder with his nose.
“I know, bud. Jackass thinks he’s a know-it-all.”
I take my hat off, running my hand through my hair before placing it back on my head.
Who does he think he is? Lecturing me about feelings. As if I would want anything more than just a stress release with someone with Dakota.
With her long, dark hair and fuck me eyes.
With the way she fits right into my arms and kisses in a way that’s so fucking sexy, it should be illegal.
Nope, nothing more than just a stress release.
Leading Duke out of the barn, I mount him and take off as fast as I can before anything else stops me. I don’t fucking need this. I’m only doing this to save the rodeo and the ranch.
Plus, she sought me out.
I don’t need this.
Fuck Wyatt and fuck the investors. I’m Chance fucking Declan and I don’t do feelings.
I fuck. I make power moves in business. I do what needs to get done.
Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll start to believe it.
Chapter Eleven
Chance
Whiskey Falls flashes by in a blur as the limo makes its way through the main streets of town.
It’s the town I grew up in. I’ve known most of its inhabitants either through my family’s company or through school and the various activities I did as a child. But when I really think about it, I don’t really know anyone. Not really. No one knows the real Chance Declan. No one except for Wyatt.
I don’t know how I feel about that, now that I think of it. It’s something I’ve always worked hard at—keeping everyone at a distance. I’ve found it’s just easier that way. Having a stone wall around your heart and an asshole attitude is the only way I know how to be.
But now there’s Dakota.
“Stop looking like you’re going to throw yourself from the fucking limo,” Wyatt groans from the seat across from me. His arm rests on the back of the seat, his long legs spread into the middle.
“Stop making me go to these things and I’ll stop looking miserable about it,” I bite back.
“You know I hate these things as much as you do.” Wyatt pulls at his tie, looking like he wants to rip it off.
“I know,” I grumble. Looking back out the window, the feeling of dread sinks in my stomach. All day I’ve found myself looking forward to seeing Dakota and spending time with her. I have no idea why. Wyatt must have gotten into my head yesterday, asking about my intentions with Dakota.
