“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say, smiling whispering back at her.
“Thanks for that,” she says.
“For what mags?” I ask.
“Ya know, being nice to her. Cole and Luke haven’t really given her a super warm welcome,” she says nervously.
“Are you kidding! She’s a sweetheart, don't have to thank me for that, plus I love kids,” I say.
I’m finally alone walking by myself when Cole runs up beside me.
“You did good today.” He smiles—forgetting he just lip-teased me back under the willow tree but somehow I forget those feelings too when he’s this close. Those eyes looking at me. Makes my stomach do summersaults.
Maybe I’m thinking with my ovaries and not my brain but two can play at his game when I say “I know how to ride, real good and I don’t need instructions.” I whisper and run my tongue along the lobe of his ear before walking away. Seeing his jaw get tight and his hands clench brings a big smile on my face. And the score is:
Cole: 01 - Layla: 01
Chapter 25
Hot Mama
Cole
“Did you kiss her under the willow tree like a proper gentleman?”
Maggie laughs and teases, her voice echoing off the barn walls as she hauls a saddle onto the rack.
The air here is thick with the familiar scent of leather, hay, and horse sweat—warm from the afternoon sun baking the tin roof overhead.
“It took everything in me not to,” I grunt back, hanging Buttercup’s saddle with more force than necessary. The leather slaps against the wood, dust puffing up in a small cloud.
My body still aches from holding back, her lips so close under those branches, body pressed against mine like she was daring me. I can still feel the ghost of her tongue on my ear from a few minutes ago, that little flick that had me hard in seconds. Friendly. Right.
“I can’t believe she’s offered to help us with Bella tonight. That’s so nice. Layla really is a sweet girl, Cole,” Maggie says while helping me hang up the saddles—her hands quick and efficient, the way they always are.
“I never said she wasn’t,” I say bluntly, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my arm. The barn smells like old wood and fresh straw, sunlight slanting through the open doors in golden stripes across the dirt floor.
Maggie comes over, puts her hand on my shoulder, warm and steady.
“I never said it’d be easy. Being friends is gonna be hard, but you can do it. If you really want her to get to know you, show her you’re more than just a grumpy cowboy. Be nice to her.”
I roll my eyes. What does she think I’m doing? I’m literally doing that—leaving books on her porch, inviting her to ride, taking her to dinner like it’s nothing. At some point, fear creeps in that Layla might think I just want to be friends and not want more than that if I keep turning her down every time she tries to kiss me. Or hell, the way she was looking at me today, eyes dark, lips parted, whispering that line in my ear like she knew exactly what it would do to me. I would’ve fucked her. I’d fuck her anytime, any day, anywhere. Out in the open while everybody watches. She just has to give me that look and I’ll do it. And that’s what sucks right now because I can’t. Because Maggie says I should be her friend first. And Layla… Well, she said she needed time. She didn’t say she just wanted to be friends.
“You know, Maggie,” I say, voice low, “I’m worried she never told me she just wanted to be friends. She just told me she needed time. What if she thinks I’m not into her anymore?”
She laughs—short, knowing. “ My god. You sound like a girl,” She snorts. “I highly doubt that’s possible. The way you stare at her, the way y’all look at each other? It’s sickening.Sometimes you really should get a room. Now I know what that phrase is used for.”
Lanie yells for Maggie from up the hill, waving her down. She pats my shoulder one more time and passes by, running off with a quick laugh.
I need a nap before I handle tonight with Layla. And maybe I should stroke my cock before I see her in a swimsuit—get it out of my system so I don’t lose my damn mind when she’s wet and laughing by the pool. The thought alone has me half-hard again, jeans suddenly too tight. I walk into the house and head up the stairs, boots heavy on the creaking wood, the house quiet except for the distant hum of cicadas outside. Sheets still rumpled from this morning. I drop onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight, and stare at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles.
I wake to the sound of bass thumping and laughter, everyone’s partying outside—it’s dark now. Shit, how long did I sleep? Fuck, Maggie didn’t wake me up. I grab a T-shirt, the soft gray one from the chair, pull on my jeans, the denim rough and cool against my thighs and tug my boots on.
I head right outside toward where I hear the music coming from, the night air cool and thick with chlorine and grill smoke, crickets loud under the thump of country music drifting from the speakers. String lights glow soft yellow across the yard, water shimmering blue in the pool, laughter bouncing off the surface like ripples.
There they all are, partying by the pool, ranch hands and their girls splashing, Luke and Steph tangled up laughing. Layla’s holding Lanie’s daughter, Bella, dancing with her. She’s got her propped up on her hip, singing along to “Neon Moon,” voice sweet and a little off-key but full of joy, hips swaying slow to the rhythm.
