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“Unless you go on dates with a silencer and a 9mm, I’d say you’re probably exaggerating.”
Juniper sighed and let the blanket slide off as she stood. “Maybe.”
“STOP.” Callie’s command blasted in her ear and Juniper pulled the phone away before slowly drawing it closer.
“What the heck?”
“Now I know. You’re looking at your dress again, aren’t you, and you’ve been working on your scrapbook? Yeah, you gotta get out of your own head, Jun. You can’t meet anyone if you’re stuck in your office working on yourone-day wedding.”
Ouch. “Wow. Lay it on me thick, why don’t you.”
“You’ve been working on the perfect weddingforever.”
“Sounds about right,” she offered with a soft laugh of her own. “So what was your genius plan? You said you know what I needed.”
“We need a night of margaritas, chocolate and maybe some bar hopping.”
She didn’t need to think that one through. “You had me at margaritas.”
“We can sign off of work early tonight. How’s that?”
She huffed. “Which translates to drinking way too much on a Friday night!”
“Yeah. Pretty much. Put some positive juju into the cosmos so we can get the ball rolling on your tight schedule and get you a man willing to spank that ass.”
She spied that taunting red envelope again. “Let’s do it. We’ll also burn your list.”
Her list had saved her from quite a few mistakes, thank you very much. But Callie had a point. Unless she wanted to be a spinster and die alone with only a scrapbook of wedding ideas, she needed to ease up. It was something to consider anyway.
She needed that second cinnamon bun after all. Juniper threw open her door and glanced at the clock. Almost nine.
“You on your way?”
“Just pulled out of the drive. Be there in just a few.”
“Okay,” she heard herself mumble and she ground to an abrupt halt that had her feet skidding across the polished floor.
The sexiest set of blue eyes zeroed in on her from beneath the brim of a Stetson and she froze to the floorboards.
Tall, dark, and all Texan just entered her world.
That smile. The way he tipped his hat to a passing stranger on the sidewalk.
Holy fuck, her thighs instantly clenched and the bolt of heat that shot through her was as real as the man now looking back at her.
She mentally added another bullet point that shot straight to the top of her perfect man list:Must be a well-packing cowboy.
CHAPTER SIX
All the Sundays she’d spent as a child watching old cowboy movies rushed her memory. He was nothing like what she saw on TV, he was better.
Way better.
Tall, broad across the shoulders like Atlas ready to carry the world, and she not too lean around the waist.
From his spot outside her window, he nodded and spoke to someone now just out of view from where she stood. She bet his accent dropped panties.
A silly question flitted across her mind. Did all cowboys wear spurs like in the movies? She had to wonder. She could not see his feet, but she bet the last dollar he at least had on boots.
