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Flinn’s head jerks up, he immediately crosses his arms over his chest. He’s all stern disapproval. “No.”

“Not even a little bit of …” I press my tongue against the inside of my cheek and push my fist toward my mouth in a pretend blow job.

With an exasperated exhale, his chin tilts toward the ceiling, eyes closing in a “so help me” prayer. But I don’t miss the way he goes a tad redder in the cheeks. “No. I slept on the couch.” He sighs, looking back down, giving me a once-over with an unreadable expression locked in place.

Oh. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.” Wings flutter in my stomach. Why does that make it even more swoony … that he just kinda took care of making sure I got home and that he didn’t try anything?

“I’m not in the habit of hitting on drunk guys,” he adds.

“Did I …?” Grimacing, I peek at him. I have some vague memories floating around, but I’m also not sure if I was dreaming or actually saying things out loud.

“Hit on me?” he finishes on my behalf, then narrows his eyes. Thumping me square in the chest with how gorgeous he is and how much I wish things were different between us.

“Yeah, uhh … that.”

A twitch tugs at his upper lip, and he doesn’t have to say a single word.

I drag my hands down my face. “Oh, well, fuck me sideways. Flinn, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I said, but I have a vivid enough imagination.”

“It’s okay.” He pauses while sliding food onto two plates. “You remembered my name?”

I’m left gaping at him. Remember? God. Does this guy have any concept of how unforgettable he is?

I clear my throat and shrug it off. Be cool, Brad. “Lucky guess. Or was it Frank? Ford?” I follow it up with a wink to cover my tracks.

That earns me a scowl, and maybe it’s the fact I’m still a teeny bit drunk, or maybe it’s because I’m just goddamn pathetic, but I’m in so much shit because I officially fucking adore his frowns.

“Just eat, would ya?” He shoves the plate in my direction. Nodding at me to sit. At my own tiny kitchen island no less.

“Thanks, Floyd.” I hit him with a smirk before fixing my eyes on the miracle appearing before me. Food cooked by someone else just hits different.

His sister refused to cook. Ever.

He’s just gone and done all this, without even asking.

That has me inhaling my food until I’ve practically licked the plate clean, all in an attempt to stop fixating on the fact he’s really, reeeeally looking like boyfriend material right about now.

“And by the way, it’s not okay that I hit on you. You obviously saved my drunk ass to bring me all the way out here. And in return, I acted like a complete tool.” My pulse starts to thud a little harder, now that I’m more awake and got some food in my belly to soak up the remnants of liquor lazing around in my blood. So I hop up off my stool and grab hold of his empty plate to clean up after ourselves.

Flinn makes a noise that sounds like he’s about to protest, but I clear my throat. “Uhh, no way, cowboy.” Jabbing a thumb against my chest, I tut at him. “Blackout drunks who embarrass themselves by hitting on their ride home do the dishes. Them’s the rules.”

He studies me. Again with that indecipherable expression, and I wish I wasn’t feeling so fluttery around him.

“You don’t happen to know where my phone is, do you?” I wet my lips. How the fuck am I this nervous all of a sudden? Is it the prospect that he’s gonna leave any minute? His truck has off-road tires. The kind of ruggedly reliable vehicle that can easily handle the snow out there. All he needs is to scrape it off and I’m assuming he’ll be on his way.

“Here.” Flinn leans across the benchtop before extending his big hand. My cell is right there, wrapped in his palm and fully charged. “Plugged it in for you last night.”

“Oh.” Buzzing starts up in my ears. Oh, indeed. Why does something as simple as that feel like he just offered to fly me on a private jet to see the rodeo world champs in person? It’s just charging my phone for me, for fuck’s sake.

I quickly wipe my damp hands over my thighs and take it from him.

Messages from Sky fill my notifications, making me shrivel up inside at how shitty of a friend I was to her last night. Yeah, I’m gonna struggle to make up for that anytime this century.

But as I open our text thread, prepared to grovel, it’s not what I expected. Not at all.

My eyes pop wide, and bounce between the messages on screen, up to Flinn, and then back down again. Shit.

This … is not how I imagined today would go.