Page 20 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I chuckled. “Well, what’s your name? Besides the pillows I want to sleep on tonight, Cowgirl, and my baby.”

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Not yours. Not a baby. My pillows are tiny, and I already told you I’m not a cowgirl.”

My gaze dropped briefly to her hands—red and raw from the cold. But no rings. I liked hitting on her, but if she was married, that was a hard line in the sand.

I held up mine again, palms out in mock surrender. “Alright, fair, though I will say I think your pillows looked fine earlier. What should I call you, then?”

She sighed, clearly debating whether to humor me. “Fable,” she clipped out.

Fable. The name stuck in my mind, unique and intriguing, just like her.

“Alright, Fable.” I smirked. “Can I please take you home now? Before we both turn into popsicles out here?”

6

Fable

Home? Where the hell was home?

I’d texted Harleigh, and she said she’d already left. She thought I’d hitched a ride back to her place, and I told her I was safe.

I could go to her apartment, but the second Beau said home, it twisted something deep inside me. I didn’t have one. Not a place that felt like mine.

What the fuck was I supposed to do? Going back to Mike wasn’t an option. God knows what he and Trishelle were up to, and there was no way in hell I’d walk in on them again. Harleigh promised me one night. Just one. No overthinking, no planning, no messy reality. Tonight didn’t exist. It was a story—a chapter I could escape into. Tomorrow would be the real world’s problem.

I glanced back at Beau. He looked like he was about to freeze, standing there in nothing but a long-sleeve black shirt and jeans. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, holding them up as if to say Your call. Where would he even take me? Harleigh’s, I guess?

“Come on, baby.” He coaxed me.

The way he said baby stirred something warm inside me. I didn’t want to correct him. It sounded too good coming out of his mouth.

He had this look to him—rough, raw, like he belonged in this wild, chaotic night. The same look that had drawn me to him at the event. It was so unlike anything else I’d ever known. He was the complete opposite of the polished, pristine world I lived in, that my anxiety lived in.

There was a want deep inside me, a restless ache to know what it felt like to let go and not have anxiety and fear at the forethought of every action. To be fearless, reckless even, like he was. To just be.

I already felt a twinge of regret clawing at my chest. This was a bad idea.

I met his eyes and deadpanned, “I don’t want to go home. You can take me out for that drink.”

His grin spread slow and easy, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Now we’re talking, baby.”

This was dangerous. But surprisingly, I didn’t care. Tonight was about letting the story write itself, and tomorrow was the reality of life as I knew it.

“This way.” He gestured, and I followed him toward the other side of the parking lot.

“Did you drive here?” I asked as we walked up to a red truck.

“No. My dad usually travels with me, and we’re working on a weird schedule. Typically, we work Thursday through Sunday and then get to go home, but we came from another event, so my dad drove here overnight.”

“Where are you headed next?” I asked as he held the door open.

“Idaho, next week.”

“Won’t your dad need his car?” I pressed, glancing at the keys dangling from his hand.

He shook his head. “He left with the others for dinner.”

A sharp pang hit my chest at the thought of him skipping out. “You’re not going?”