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The energy in my truck’s cab lightens along with the sky. I jostle her arm that’s tethered to mine. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Her hair curtains her expression, but it almost appears bashful. “I might’ve upgraded you to a very elite label in my phone.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, baby.”

Gemma swallows audibly. “There’s another reason this drive is significant.”

Pins and needles prickle my ass as if I sat on a thistle. “You’re keeping me in suspense.”

“It’s our first trip as an official couple,” she blurts.

I swerve when my attention snaps to her. It’s a damn good thing she decided to leave Moe and Hank at home or they’d be bobbled back there. My experience behind the wheel straightens out the rig almost instantly, but the feverish tempo pounding through me won’t cease.

“What’re you saying?” I need her to confirm my assumption before I jump to conclusions.

She squirms. “Why is this so hard?”

“That’s what she said,” I respond automatically. “But more importantly, it might have to do with the last of your guard against me crumbling into dust.” There’s a cautiously optimistic edge in my tone.

Her nod strokes my ego until I’m likely to burst. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Fuck, yes.” My palm slaps the wheel. “Say it again.”

She giggles. “You’re my boyfriend, Chance Benson.”

I whoop loud enough to pierce our eardrums. “You’ve just made me very happy, Wildflower. I’m gonna win the go-round tomorrow and then we’ll really celebrate.”

“Can’t wait.” She sways back over the center console, resting on my shoulder.

My lips stamp a seal of approval on the tip of her freckled nose while I cinch her index finger tightly around mine. “But seriously, I won’t take your trust for granted.”

Gemma’s blue stare captures mine. “I believe you.”

Best Boyfriend of My Life: Are you watching?

Me: Nope. I had to wash my hair.

Best Boyfriend of My Life: You better be joking.

Me: What if I’m not?

Best Boyfriend of My Life: You’ll get a spanking.

Me: Promise?

Best Boyfriend of My Life: With both palms until your ass is red hot.

Me: If you’re trying to make me behave, this is having an adverse effect.

“Cowboys have the hottest asses.” This observation is announced rather loudly from a woman—rocking pigtails and a bandeau bra as a shirt—sitting directly in front of me on the bleachers.

“Especially Wyatt and Chance,” the brunette next to her giggles. Her sundress and wedge sandals are another interesting choice for a rodeo, but who am I to judge?

“I saw them practicing behind the chutes earlier. Those pelvic thrusts could realign my spine,” Pigtails shares on a breathy exhale. “Their Wranglers are snug in the crotch too. Both of them are packing jumbo eggplants.”

My eyes bulge. Okay, now they have me invested. I tuck my phone in my lap and lean forward, granting myself permission to eavesdrop.

Sundress licks her lips that appear swollen from a recent injection. “Bronc riders fuck like wild mustangs.”