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I have plenty to do, sourcing furniture and decor for Loveland, so I shouldn’t be worried about whether he texts or not. This is his custody battle. Let him worry about it.

So why are you checking your phone again?

I take another sip of my beer and draw a smiley face on the condensation in the glass. The faint breeze from the open front door hits my skin, but it’s the loud male voices that get my attention. Looking up, I see a crowd of guys, each in a version of the same hot cowboy uniform—Stetson, dark jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt.

Last in the door, Luke closes it so it doesn’t slam and follows his friends to a reserved table in the opposite corner of the room. Luke makes his jeans and dark shirt look like he’s doing them a favor, allowing them to hug his tall, muscled physique. That damn swagger.

Luke doesn’t notice me, but this man wouldn’t notice anyone, not with the way he keeps his eyes pointed at the floor and his feet moving along.

He and his friends sidle over to the bar like regulars and fist bump the bartender. I have a perfect view of Luke, and I take a moment to appreciate his muscular thighs, tight ass, and broad shoulders that tug at the fabric of his navy flannel. Dark hair curls over his collar, looking damp.

Imagining him standing in the shower after a long day driving cattle or whatever he does sends an unexpected jolt of awareness between my legs. I shift on the hard wooden chair to relieve the sudden flicker of sensation.

The guys stand near their table, but no one sits, too busy talking with the bartender and joking with each other. Their energy lifts the atmosphere in the room. Someone hands Luke a beer and claps him on the back, and I watch him take a long first sip, his throat working as he swallows. I’m gawking at him like a pervert, but I can’t help it. I shift again in my chair because, goddamnit, he’s making me feel things just by standing there drinking a beer. I can only imagine what I’d feel if those lips and tongue were on my skin.

Good god. I look away before I have an orgasm from across the room.

Looking away lasts for about a second before my eyes roam back to him. Shameless.

I stare long enough for one of his friends to notice and point me out. I almost laugh watching the parade of expressions dance across Luke’s face. Recognition. Fear. Resignation. Dread. Then he says something to his friend, who nods and smiles.

Luke puts his drink down and starts walking toward me, so I wave and jump up to meet him halfway, throwing my arms around him like we haven’t seen each other in a month. “Hey! Happy to see you!” I say. Then I lean closer and whisper, “Act like you’re happy to see me.”

He kisses the top of my hair and lightly embraces me. I feel every point of contact right through my cotton shirt, and my skin glows hot beneath his hands.

“How was that?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“Pretty terrible, but we’ll work on it.” I grin up at him like I’m as smitten as a fiancée should be.

Looking in the direction of Luke’s friends, I see that a few are looking our way, but eventually they go back to their conversations. “Your friends are going to need an explanation if you ‘forgot’ to tell them you’re engaged,” I say.

He squeezes his eyes shut like he can’t believe the mess he’s gotten himself into. I shrug and smile brightly because I kind of enjoy needling him. He has absolutely no game face, and I want him to loosen up. It would be good for him.

We move over and perch on a couple of barstools farther away at the bar.

“What—what are you doing here?” He blinks at me like a deer in the headlights.

“Of all the bars in all the towns… right?”

“What?”

“Casablanca? It’s like the most famous line ever.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“But you do live on planet earth, with people. And you’ve never heard that line?”

He’s getting annoyed. There’s a frown line between his eyes that keeps getting deeper. I’d be more worried about it splitting his face in two if he didn’t look so hot scowling at me like that.

“I can’t decide if you’re Godzilla bent on eating the world or Bambi walking toward a lion in the forest.”

Another blank look.

“Okay, I think we’ve established you don’t see a lot of movies.”

“Your point?” he asks. The frown line deepens.

“My point is that most hot guys act like the world owes them something for merely existing. For gracing us all with the good fortune of a few moments to gaze at you. And you just look uncomfortable most of the time.”