Page 102 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Yes,” he said simply.

My eyes darted around the room. “I’m looking for the hidden camera. Any second now, someone’s gonna pop out and tell me I’m being punked.”

Beau smirked, completely unfazed, spearing another bite of food like we hadn’t just spent weeks convincing ourselves we had to stay friends.

“What happened to being neighbors and keeping things simple?” I pressed. “What happened to needing to be friends?”

“Fable, respectfully—fuck being friends.”

I froze, my fork clattering onto the plate as I gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted his gaze, locking onto mine, and the twitch of his mustache told me he wasn’t messing around. “Baby, that was the second time I got to taste you, and now? You’ve ruined me. It’s your fault, really. So yeah—fuck being friends.”

My stomach twisted. “B-but we can be friends, right?”

Because if I lost him, I didn’t know what I’d do. I needed him. Not just for the heat and the tension, but because he made me feel safe—like I had a place in this world where I wasn’t existing, but belonging.

Beau set his fork down, eyes never leaving mine as he leaned in, his voice low and sure. “It can be whatever you want—friends with benefits, friends who sometimes fuck, dating, hell, married—doesn’t matter to me.”

“Married?!” I sputtered, nearly choking on air.

He chuckled, reaching across the table, his calloused fingers brushing against my wrist. “Call it whatever you want, Cowgirl, but it’s simple.” His eyes darkened. “You’re mine.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” I answered honestly.

“You don’t have to,” he murmured, gathering my plate and carrying it to the sink. He carefully rinsed the dishes and tucked them into the dishwasher.

When he returned, he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my temple. “See you later, baby.”

He left me there in my kitchen, completely and utterly reeling.

You’re mine.

The words played on a loop in my head. We weren’t just friends. That line I’d so desperately tried to draw between us had been erased in one breath, one kiss pressed to my temple like a quiet promise.

Everything had changed.

I should’ve felt the rush of anxiety creeping up my spine, the need to escape, to scrub my hands raw until I could convince myself I still had some control. Instead, I sat there, sinking into the chair, replaying every second, every touch, every declaration.

And then, something entirely out of the ordinary happened.

I smiled.

A slow, genuine, holy shit, what is happening to me kind of smile.

Not because I had control. Not because I had figured out the next step or mapped out an exit plan. But because, for the first time in a long, long time . . .

I didn’t want one.

34

Fable

“I cannot believe we’re going to the event this weekend in Milwaukee at the last minute.”

I nodded as Harleigh drove us toward the Dallas airport. “Me either.”

The week had gone by in a blur, and on Thursday afternoon, Kline had pulled us aside and told us that we had to go to the event this weekend and get content for one of the bulls that he was trucking up to Wisconsin. The bull was Kline’s top performer, and his genetics were being auctioned soon, so he wanted content from us.