Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
It’s the tie, though, that really does something to me. It’s brown, same shade as his hat, and I’m gripped by the alarmingly strong urge to grab it and yank him against me. My body pulses at the imaginary sound of his deep, rumbly laugh as he stumbles into me. It’s a sound I’d capture in my mouth, a sound that would morph into a groan as I kissed him and he kissed me back.
The scent of sandalwood, mingled with a hint of wintergreen, rises off his skin.
He looks me over, head to toe, and my stomach flips when his Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow. Blinking, he hesitates, his eyes raking over me again, and again, finally landing on my face.
Another beat of heated silence stretches between us as his gaze searches mine.
Whoa whoa whoa. Is Wyatt Rivers at a loss for words?
No way is this man—this gorgeous, professional flirt—speechless right now.
Only he is speechless. He’s not speaking, but he’s sure as hell looking, a pink flush creeping up his neck.
It’s kind of adorable, actually. And hot. It’s so hot to be looked at this way that heaviness gathers between my legs with an insistent throb.
His attention makes me feel sexy. Confident. Bingo.
At last, he blinks and clears his throat. “Hey. Hi. Hello, Sally.”
“Hi, Wyatt.”
He holds out a paper-wrapped bouquet of pink and orange zinnias, his eyes flicking appreciatively over my dress yet again. “For you. You look—wow.” He chuckles, and I swear I hear a hint of nervousness in the sound. “Wow, Sally. Beautiful.”
Have I died?
Am I in heaven?
Have I ever felt prettier or happier in my entire life?
Wyatt was speechless.
And he’s put in effort. A lot of effort. There are the flowers. And the only other time I’ve ever seen Wyatt in a suit was at his parents’ funeral.
Wyatt does not get dressed up. Ever.
Except he got dressed up for me.
I expected him to show up in jeans and a cowboy button-up. Nice jeans and a nice button-up, yes, but nothing that wasn’t part of Wyatt’s ordinary wardrobe.
“Where the fuck did you get a suit?” I blurt, taking the flowers and cradling them against my chest.
Even though I’m a step up from Wyatt and wearing four-inch heels, he still towers over me.
“That’s some language,” Dad pipes up from somewhere behind me.
Wyatt flashes me a wide, white smile, the kind that makes the tan skin at the edges of his eyes crinkle. “Borrowed it from Sawyer. The hat though”—he taps the brim with his fingers—“I drove out to Lubbock earlier today and bought it. Gotta look my best for Sally Powell.”
My stomach dips again. Lubbock is an hour and a half drive from here. Fake boyfriends do not drive three hours round trip to buy a new cowboy hat so they look good for their fake girlfriends.
That’s something real boyfriends do.
My pulse riots. Does Wyatt want to be my real boyfriend?
Absolutely not. And yet—
“You know what they say about a man and his cowboy hats,” Mom says, appearing at my elbow.
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Wyatt replies easily. “He only needs two of them—one for his wedding day, and one for his son’s wedding day.”
Mom turns to Dad and wags her eyebrows. “Or his daughter’s.”
Wyatt’s gaze meets mine, a knowing, slightly teasing glimmer in his eyes.
Yep, he gets that I’m trying very hard not to roll my eyes at my parents’ general ridiculousness. He gets that I love them, just like he gets that they still embarrass the hell out of me.
Wyatt doesn’t care though. It takes a lot to ruffle his feathers.
“Y’all sure you don’t want to bring any food?” Mom asks. “I’m sure I could rummage up something—”
“Two kegs of Shiner were delivered to the barn this afternoon,” Wyatt replies. “Mrs. Biddle said she’d give me an ass-kicking I’d never forget if we brought anything else.”
Mom laughs. “How generous of you.”
My heart hiccups. Since when is Wyatt Mr. Community Star?
I’m smiling when I say, “How like you to donate beer.”
“And a poker game.” He smiles back. “How much you think a lesson in Texas Hold’Em, taught by yours truly, is worth?”
“Hmm.” I tap my finger on my chin. “Five bucks?”
His eyes dance. “Sold, if you’re the one buying.”
Dad leans forward, his shoulder brushing mine. “I know y’all are grown adults—”
“Please, don’t,” I say, blinking when Mom takes the flowers from me.
“I’ll just go put these in water. Wyatt, they’re gorgeous. Y’all don’t hurry home!”
“But no drinking and driving, you hear?” Dad continues. “Gets so dark out here at night. Actually, the earlier you can have her home, the better.”
Wyatt nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t wait up.” I peck Dad’s cheek again. “Seriously though, I’ve been living on my own for a really long time. I’ll be fine. Love y’all.”
Stepping onto the front porch, I loop my arm through Wyatt’s and yank him toward his truck. I can smell the hint of a wood fire in the air. Leaves crunch under our hurried footsteps, filling my head with their crisp, dry scent.