Chapter 23
Fable
No. I was not ready to be bold or for whatever plan was lurking beneath that growing smile of his. I wanted to go home, where the rain and the howling wind couldn’t reach me. I wanted to pull into my cozy driveway, step inside, and take a long, hot shower—wash off this night, this feeling, him.
He popped the door open, and I screamed, “Beaudreau Banks!”
“You know calling me by my full name only turns me on, baby.”
I shook my head violently as he ran around the front of the truck, rain soaking his shirt in seconds. “No,” I muttered to myself, gripping the seat, repeating it again inside the cab where no one could hear me.
No, no, no.
But Beau didn’t give me a choice.
The rain was still coming down in sheets, hammering against the truck as he yanked my door open.
“Time to make that lie another truth,” he said, reaching for me.
His hands found my waist, and before I could protest, he pulled me down—straight into the storm—and slammed the door.
I screamed, hands flying up to block the rain, but at a certain point, my shrieks turned into laughter.
He was laughing, too, his grip tightening around my hand, his face only half lit by the headlights, drops of water sliding down his jaw. He spun me once, then pulled me closer, his fingers laced with mine.
“Won’t you give me a dance, Cowgirl?”
His voice dipped lower, and rain soaked us both. I nodded, unable to form words without inhaling mouthfuls of water.
Beau pulled me in, chest to chest, his body solid and warm despite the rain soaking through our clothes. His hand stayed firm at my waist as we swayed side to side.
The storm howled around us, but it didn’t matter. It was just us—our feet moving through the puddles, the headlights casting a soft glow, the rain making everything feel more alive.
“You know, Cowgirl, you’ve got two left feet.” He teased me.
I gasped, shoving at his chest. “I do not.”
I was already laughing, and he grinned, spinning me out before I could argue, my boots kicking up water as I twirled. The cold droplets hit my skin, but all I felt were his hands pulling me back in.
It felt reckless. Untamed.
Free.
I caught my breath, smiling up at him, and neither of us spoke.
“You should laugh like that more often. It suits you,” he murmured.
I didn’t look at him. Instead I dropped my head, our foreheads meeting. He didn’t pull away; he simply held me there and kept dancing, slow and steady. Our foreheads remained pressed together as we spun in a lazy circle, hands intertwined like they were meant to be.
It was all so romantic. Too romantic. And that dumb boundary we’d set up? It wasn’t blurred—it was crossed, stomped on, completely destroyed.
Even the boundary from when we were sleeping together.
That had been physical, easy to compartmentalize, a heat that flared up and burned out as fast. This was something else. Something deeper. Something intimate in a way that made my heart ache.
This wasn’t just reckless anymore—it was dangerous.
I pulled away, stepping back to put space between us before I drowned in it. My hands slipped from his. I forced myself to look up, to focus on anything else.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the heavy sheets of water now nothing more than a soft mist floating around us.
I pointed up, using it as my out. “We should get going.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “We should.”
His smile was soft as he jogged toward the passenger side of the truck, pulling the door open with ease. I climbed in, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around me.
I was soaked to the bone, but when I glanced over and saw how drenched he was, I laughed. Beau’s jeans clung to his legs, dripping water as he slid onto the leather seat with a loud, unfortunate squelch.
A grin stretched across my face. “You’re gonna get sick before your event this week.”
He pulled onto the main road, wipers swiping back and forth against the misty windshield. “Nope. Real cowboys never get sick.”
“I thought you weren’t a cowboy. You’re a bull rider.”
He huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t argue.
The rest of the drive was quiet. My body was still cold, but my skin felt different—clean. Like something had been scrubbed away, washed off by the rain.
When we pulled into my driveway, he let the truck idle as I peeled off the blanket and reached for the handle.
“Thanks for the ride,” I murmured, glancing at him one last time.
“Get warm, Cowgirl.”
I slipped out and hurried to the front door, feeling his headlights casting a soft glow against my back.
Inside, I kicked off my boots, stood in the dim entryway, and let out a slow breath. My hair was still dripping, my clothes clinging to me, but underneath it all, I didn’t feel heavy.
I felt . . . new.
I had no idea what the hell had happened, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run from it.