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“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot the other night. I hope we can officially start over. I’m Dakota Meyers.” She offers her hand to Wyatt, wearing a wider smile. I can’t tear my eyes away from her lips, which are painted the same shade of red as her dress.
At the moment, all I can think about is kissing her and smudging that lipstick. I want to run my hands through her dark brown hair, letting out all the pins that hold it up into some sort of updo.
“Don’t worry about it,” Wyatt says, taking her hand and raising it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the back of her hand. “I’d be more than happy to start over with you.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“Alright, knock it off,” I growl, grabbing Dakota’s hand from Wyatt’s. I lace my fingers with hers, resting them on my knee.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tugging her hand from mine, which only makes me hold on tighter.
“You’re my girlfriend, remember? I’m supposed to hold your hand.”
“In public,” she rolls her eyes, but stops tugging. “Wyatt knows what this is.”
“Call it practice. I don’t want you pulling away from me in front of the investors, do I?” I can’t help the bite in my tone, or the surge of possessiveness I have toward her. I find both very unsettling.
“No, we wouldn’t want that, would we, darling?”
Wyatt chokes on nothing, holding his fist to his mouth to cover his smile as he looks away.
The fucker.
I hate the fake smile she’s giving me right now. I hate that she brings out these reactions in me. I’m not like this. I’m a love ‘em and leave ‘em guy. I don’t want to hold hands or worry because my best friend kissed her hand.
Shaking my head, I drop her hand and turn to stare out the window.
I can’t do this. Who was I fooling thinking I could even pretend to be in a relationship. Everyone’s going to take one look at us and know this is all a farce.
What I can’t ignore is the hurt-filled gasp from the woman beside me. I discarded her so carelessly, but I can’t help it. I need to stop these thoughts. These feelings.
“Anyway,” Wyatt starts, picking up his conversation with Dakota. It’s something about a case, or local events, I don’t know. I can’t focus on them. I need to pretend Dakota is just another buckle bunny. She’s just arm candy to get the ranch through the rodeo and win the approval of the sponsors.
The limo pulls into the drive of the ranch, passing the large gates I have a love/hate relationship with. While I love that I can close them and shut out the world, I sometimes hate what they represent. I’m grateful for the life I have, but it comes with costs, such as an expectation of living my life in a certain way.
My dad never had that problem. He had been with my mom since they were teenagers. I don’t stand a chance to live up to my parents and their lives, nor do I want to try.
I just wish everyone else would fuck off.
“Are you going to get out?” Dakota’s sweet voice distracts me from my spiralling thoughts.
I look up, seeing we have stopped at my front door. A line of limos waits behind us, bringing more assholes I need to impress.
“Yup,” I grind out as the driver opens the door.
I climb out, holding my hand out to help Dakota, who gracefully places her smaller hand in mine as she slides out of the back. She takes a moment to smooth down her dress and smiles up at me, blinding me with her beauty.
The setting sun creates a perfect backdrop behind her, illuminating the red in her dark brown hair.
“Are we ready to do this?” Wyatt asks, stepping out behind Dakota, smoothing out his black button-up shirt.
“Yes, I can’t wait to get this over with,” Dakota says with a smile as she steps up next to me.
The venom in her voice hurts, but I know it’s well deserved. I’ve been an ass to her and should be thankful she didn’t tell the driver to just turn around and take her home.
Which she has every right to.
I take her hand and place it in the crook of my arm as we make our way around back. The grounds behind my home have been transformed with large white tents, round tables, and a dance floor. Jazz music plays from speakers by the front where a small stage has been set up with a four-person band. Why is there jazz music at a gala for a rodeo? Fuck if I know. I assume the donors are too sophisticated for some country music, beers out of the taillights of trucks, and a fire pit.
