Hopefully with a few drinks, some dancing, and a cowboy who finally stops pretending he doesn’t want me just as bad as I want him.
The barbecue smells incredible. Smoke hangs in the air, thick and mouthwatering, and my stomach growls loud enough to embarrass me. I grab a plate and pile it high, pulled pork, baked beans, potato salad, and some little hot dogs swimming in a sauce I don’t recognize but absolutely plan to destroy.
I sit down next to Maggie at the long table. It’s packed, ranch hands I recognize from my morning walks, people laughing, clinking beers, the easy hum of a place that knows how to come together.
“So good,” I say out loud after my first bite.
Sweet tea washes it down, cold and perfect.
“I could honestly get used to this,” I add.
Cole scoffs from across the table.
Maggie bumps her arm into mine. “You excited for a night out?” she asks.
“Oh yeah, girl,” I say, laughing. “I’m ready to dance, get drunk, maybe bounce on a sexy cowboy. A girl has needs.”
Maggie shrieks. “Oh my god, Layla has some freak in her!”
I grin. No shame. None at all.
“Where are y’all going?” Cole asks, pulling out the chair in front of me and sitting down.
“Cotton Eye’s,” Maggie says. “You coming, big bro?”
I keep my face neutral even though my pulse jumps. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly I want him there. How badly I want him inside me. Be strong Layla. But, If he doesn’t make a move tonight, then I might just do it. I’m done waiting.
He looks me dead in the eye. Holds it. Then says, “Yeah. I think I’ll tag along.”
My stomach flips.
“Great!” Maggie says. “You can drive.” She stands up, clapping her hands. “Let’s leave in twenty. I’m ready to get drunk!”
She turns and shouts, “Everyone! We’re headed to Cotton Eye’s after dinner! Let’s party! First round on me!”
The ranch hands cheer, hooting and laughing. They deserve it. They work hard. Tonight is about letting loose.
And me?
Tonight, I’m done pretending I don’t want Cole Marshall. Because I do. At least for one night. And if he won’t stop looking at me like that, like I’m already under his skin, then I’m going to make him deal with it.
After everyone’s finished up dinner, we all start to load into trucks one by one. Maggie, Cole, and I walk toward Cole’s pickup, and the second I see it, my stomach flips.
Bench seat. Of course, I remember.
Maggie opens the passenger-side door and holds it open for me, totally casual, like this isn’t about to ruin my night.
“After you.”
I hesitate for half a second too long.
Then I climb in.
The second I sit, I realize there is no graceful way to exist here. I end up right in the middle, knees angled forward, hips settling into the worn leather seat. Before I can adjust, Maggie hops in beside me and shuts the door, the sound loud in the cab.
I’m trapped. My thighs press fully against Cole’s. Not a brush. Not accidental. Full contact. Heat. Muscle. Solid.
I freeze for a beat, pretending this is normal, pretending I don’t feel how firm his leg is against mine. My thighs are big, soft, and there’s nowhere to move without basically climbing into his lap.
