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“No. I’m not.”
“Okay then,” he said, pushing up off the wall. “Let’s get to cowboying or whatever.”
I chuckled. “You can’t go. Not dressed like that.”
“What do you mean?” He glanced down his body, a band T-shirt that fit him like a dream, dark wash denim with holes in the knees, and solid black Converse. “What’s wrong with this?”
“First off, a horse steps on your foot with those shoes on and you’re in the hospital with broken toes, at the very least. And you’re gonna ruin pretty much anything you wear. I can guarantee it. Hang on, I’ll get you something better.”
I slipped off my boots and headed up the stairs, Jamie on my heels. I hated how aware I was of him. His presence was electric, a force of nature I could sense.
He stood in my doorway as I rooted around in my drawers, pulling out a pair of Wranglers, an old T-shirt and, last but not least, my spare boots from the closet.
“You a size twelve?” I asked, assessing his feet.
“In US sizes I am.”
“Here. These should do just fine. Might be a hair big, but they’ll keep you from losing a toe.”
“Thanks. I’ll...Well, I guess I’ll need you to show me where I can buy some new stuff, so I don’t have to borrow yours.”
“We can do that, but I don’t mind sharing. It’s not like you’re moving in permanently.” I laughed at the thought. “Jameson Lorde trades in his leather and fast cars for Wranglers and horses.”
He smirked back at me. “It doesn’t sound so bad when you say it like that. In fact, it sounds kind of peaceful.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I could buy a place out here where it’s quiet, make my own private studio where I could record whenever I wanted. Sounds kinda perfect, actually.”
“What about touring?”
“Well, I’d just have to hire some cowboys to run things while I was gone.”
He took the clothes and headed to his room, and part of me hated myself for thinking about him with my scent all over him, his body touching my clothes. By the time he came downstairs, I already had my hat on and was holding my spare for him. If he was gonna play cowboy, he had to at least look the part.
He was still wearing the leather jacket, those tattoos on his neck and fingers the only ones visible because of the coat, and my jeans fit him like a glove. Fuck. This was a bad idea.
“Is that hat for me?” The excited glint in his eyes had me fighting a laugh.
“Yes. There’s no way I’m not gonna give you the full cowboy experience now that you want it.”
“Oh, does that mean you’re going to take me for a ride too?”
On my dick? Yes. I pushed the dirty thought out of my mind. “If you want. But let’s start with getting to know the place before we do any riding, okay?”
“I’m all yours, Killian. Teach me everything you know. I’m a good student.”
“We’ll see. From what I know of you, you’re a spoiled rock star used to the finer things.”
He bristled. “You might be right. I haven’t exactly had to fend for myself in a long time.”
It surprised me that he’d admit to being out of touch with reality, but then again, so had I. A few years of even the taste of fame had spoiled me.
He put his hat on, and I couldn’t help but reach out and adjust its position.
“There. Now you’ll do.”
That cocky grin of his made something twist inside me. He liked my approval of him. Maybe we could make this work. Of course, there was the small problem of me not being able to write a fucking song.
