Page 48 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

There’d been a diner we stopped at yesterday before heading to Dallas, and that coffee had been decent. This was next level.

I swung open the door, coffee still in hand. “Where did you get this?” I asked, brushing past Beau and into the living room, where the smell of the coffee mingled with something else—something buttery and sweet.

The brown paper bag was now on the small dining table, so I walked over and opened it.

“Made it,” Beau said, and when I turned to look at him, I swear he winked. He was so goddamn annoying and cheery.

“No, you didn’t,” I shot back.

He shook his head, grinning wider. “Sure did, Cowgirl.”

“Ugh, seriously, stop calling me that.”

As I reached into the bag, Beau took a small, hesitant step closer. Inside were a dozen pastries. I grabbed a Danish, took a bite, and groaned. My stomach practically did a happy dance.

“Wow,” I mumbled through a mouthful. “This is good.”

Beau laughed, leaning against the edge of the table. “Couple towns over, where your new boyfriend Gatlin lives, there’s a good bakery.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I paused mid-chew, narrowing my eyes at him. “That’s where the coffee’s from too, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his grin never wavering. “Come on, I actually made it.”

I pulled out one of the chairs at the table with my foot and dropped into it, still clutching the coffee and the half-eaten Danish. Beau hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to me, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Listen,” he started like he was treading carefully. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“We didn’t get off on any foot because we never got off.”

The corner of Beau’s stupid mouth twisted into that infuriating smirk. “I don’t remember that being true. You were screaming my name as you came⁠—”

“Shut up,” I groaned and set my coffee on the table, my cheeks burning as a blush hit me.

His smile faltered, and before I could react, he reached out and gently wrapped his hand around mine. My eyes flitted to where his rough fingers rested against my skin, brushing over my still-red palms, but his unwavering gaze stayed locked on mine.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you about that stuff.”

“What stuff?” I asked, pulling my hand away as casually as I could, masking the rising tension by taking another sip of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he started, his jaw tightening slightly. “When we . . . when we hooked up or whatever, I didn’t realize I’d have to see you again.”

I scoffed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. “Of course you didn’t. I was just a one-night stand.”

The words hung heavy in the air, laced with more resentment than I’d meant to show, but they were there.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly. His deep brown eyes were wide, and his hands shifted uncomfortably in his lap.

He leaned forward, his mustache twitching slightly as if he were about to speak again. He moved his hand to the table, his fingers creeping toward me, pausing just inches away before he pulled back.

I nodded, but the pins-and-needles feeling was creeping in again, clawing its way up my chest and into my throat. My fingers tightened around the coffee cup as I forced a shrug.

“It is what it was,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“I’m fucking this all up,” he mumbled, dragging his hands back into his lap. “Listen, we’re going to be seeing each other a lot. I practice with the bulls here most of the time.” He pointed out the window, toward the arena past the pastures. “Right there, actually.”

“Joy,” I deadpanned and sipped my coffee.

It was going to be harder to ignore the twitch in my stomach every time I saw him. Harder to ignore the quick pattering of my heart or the memory of the way he made me fall apart that night—the most intense, consuming release I’d ever felt.