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Lainey gives me a small, disbelieving smile, like she still can't quite believe any of this is real.

I can't blame her. I'm having the same trouble myself.

"Where you going on your hot date?" Wilder pipes up, wiggling his eyebrows.

"None of your business," I tell him, having not put it together yet. I glance over at Lainey, and my stomach flutters with nerves the same way it did when I first laid eyes on her yesterday.

A tiny flush crawls up her neck.

My pulse ticks up. One thing is clear. My first date with Lainey needs to be perfect.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lainey

Two-Step stands patiently under my hands while I slowly work the cold laser over his tendon. I study the readout, then sneak another peek past the colts flank toward the corral on the far side of the barn.

Jagger's standing near Mason and Alexander with his sleeves shoved up despite the chill. He's wrestling a green colt who's bucking wildly. Dirt's smeared across one forearm, and his jaw has a stubborn set to it.

Every time he plants his boots and leans back against the colt's pull, my hands still on the laser wand. I lose count of the pass I'm on, too busy watching the muscle work across his shoulders to remember where I left off. And all that does is make me stare longer at his long stretch of forearm.

"You have two left." Roy's intern, a wiry kid named Beau who's been shadowing me since sunrise, pulls my attention back.

"Got it," I say and finish the laser treatment on Two-Step's tendon, hoping my cheeks only appear red from the morning cold. I pat his neck and coo, "Good boy."

"Should I put him back in the stall?" Beau asks.

"Yes. Thanks."

He takes over and guides him across the barn.

My gaze drifts back to the corral.

The colt finally gives up the fight, and Jagger straightens, swiping the back of his wrist against his forehead.

Mason says something I can't hear from this distance, and Jagger shoves him hard enough that he stumbles half a step into the fence rail. Both of them chuckle.

Jagger turns and catches me staring at him.

I force my attention back to the laser readout, my cheeks heating further. The numbers blur around the edges while my brain replays the exact angle of Jagger's forearms and refuses to let it go.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out.

Jagger: How long have you been staring at me?

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

Me: I wasn't.

Jagger: You sure about that?

Me: I was looking at the horse.

Jagger: That's convenient.

Me: Don't you have another horse to train or something?

Jagger: Sure do. But watching you pretend you weren't checking me out is way more entertaining.