Homebound

35. Get The Coffee

35

GET THE COFFEE

DAKOTA

T he following day, I wake up sandwiched between two stifling bodies. One of those bodies feels like cuddling a statue, and the other is, I think, a giant stuffed animal.

I glance over my shoulder to find Luna-Tuna, the ever-so-devious pup, currently sprawled out, laying (or logging, as I call it) against my back like this is her dog bed.

The furry diva.

Goodness, do I love this dog and her attachment issues.

The bedroom feels like a cocoon, the dim morning light puddling on the floor and birds greeting the world with chirps on the windowsill. My body’s sore, but I can’t remember the last time I woke up so well-rested.

That ends fast when memories of last night hit me.

The shower. Boone. Nash.

Wyatt.

My summer boy.

I can’t believe I slept with my oldest friend, and everything about it felt natural.

It was raw.

We were real .

I’d been so worried about ruining our friendship, but now I’m wondering if we were meant to be more all along. With the way he’s holding me sweetly, delicately, I’m scared to let him go.

He pulled me back from the brink of darkness with one tantalizing kiss, but what am I giving him in return? A life traveling from rodeo to rodeo? I don’t want to drag my summer boy down into the pits of my despair, but if there’s one thing that will always kill my good notions, it’s my selfish tendencies, and I want him badly.

I know a good thing when I see it, and Wyatt Patterson is too good to be true.This will probably end in a disaster, but I don’t give a shit. Let us go up in flames.

Before I can let myself spiral into worries over the present, the future, and worries of us , I reach down, stroking him.

He’s already hard.

This man’s the best distraction.

A deep groan escapes his lips, his arms tightening instinctively around me, and those mouthwatering forearm veins pop. I’m not sure when I made the switch to describing his veins as mouthwatering , but there’s no turning back now.

Especially not after last night.

His sleepy groan sparks a burn in my core, and I work him harder. His greens pop open in surprise, but it quickly melts to heat. And when I start climbing down his body, fully intent on taking him in my mouth, that spark turns into a wildfire. A husky noise scrapes through the back of his throat when he realizes my plans for the morning.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re so much better than my alarm clock.”

His voice is thick with sleep, but that only makes it sound rougher. Why are men’s tired morning voices so sexy? It’s like silky sandpaper rubbing all over me.

“Dada!” a tiny voice shouts from her crib in the corner.

We both freeze .

“Shit.” Wyatt yanks up the covers so fast I almost fall off the bed. He whips his head between us, eyes wide like he’s worried Vi will remember this moment when she’s older. “Is it bad that I forgot she was in here?”

My hands fly to my mouth. “No, I forgot too, so I guess we’re both terrible people for almost ruining her innocence.”

We laugh at that, our chuckles syncing, but then Wyatt groans and throws his head back into the pillows. “I love her, but my girl’s got the worst timing.”

I climb back up his body to gently kiss him. “Hey, she’ll understand one day.”

He grimaces. “Great, and now the moment’s ruined. Thanks for that.”

This man. He’s such a daddy . I brush the loose strands from his forehead, smiling. “You’re gonna have to let her grow up, you know.”

“I know, but she’s not growing up today.”

He grins at his daughter clutching at the railing, and we both watch her for a moment. After last night, and how awful that was, just looking at her trying to pull herself up in the crib warms me back up, melts all the bad. There’s so much goodness in my life now that Wyatt and Vi are back. They’re my bright spots.

He rubs his calloused fingertips up my ribcage. “Are you okay after last night?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just have to get back out in the gym. The Tejas rodeo is coming up and there will be a scout there to watch me compete, so I need to practice.”

“So, Tejas is a big deal?”

“A huge deal.”

“You’ll be amazing.” He kisses me again slowly before pulling back with a glint in his eye. “And what about everything that happened after?”

“Which part?”

He swallows. “The part where we had sex and basically ruined our friendship, ’cause there’s no way I can go back to being your fucking friend after that.”

He rumbles the words, so I brush the loose strands of hair from his forehead to soothe his worries. “I’m starting to think we were never meant to be just friends.”

He kisses the inside of my palm, and I feel him smile against my skin. “Good. It’s about damn time you realized that.”

The following week whirls into a tornado of training, riding, and weight lifting as I prepare for the Tejas rodeo.Nash spent the last few days in the hospital, so I can get my ass to the gym.

Tejas is a big one because there will be a few Pbr scouts there watching, and I desperately need it to go well. If it doesn’t, I might not get another chance to impress the Pbr scout, and that’ll set me back. And I can’t afford to lose any more time when my biological clock is a ticking bomb, and … fantastic, now my thoughts are spiraling into an overthinking web.

The pressure builds and builds as the Tejas rodeo approaches, fraying my nerves. I push myself harder than ever before in the gym, practice on every aggressive bull that I can, and all the while, my dad and Wyatt are at my side.

“Slow down, you wild child,” my dad drawls in his comforting rumble as I slam my shoulder into the punching bag, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Wyatt had to leave earlier to pick up Vi, but the gym is still bustling with rodeo folks immersed in their own routines. All around me, cowboys, riders, and barrel racers are slapping each other on the back, getting ready for the rodeo next Saturday like nothing’s changed. The clang of weights and occasional whoop of encouragement only fuel my frustration. We all found out Nash would be okay, so they’re excited, but he’s still got a hard path to recovery.

Their whoops shouldn’t sound so damn happy.

I punch the bag with all my might. Smiley’s face flashes in my mind. Punch. “I can’t slow down, Pops. I have to keep going. I can’t stop.”

My dad grabs the punching bag, stopping it from swinging. He gives me his Cutler scowl, the lines of his face settling into a mix of concern and sternness beneath the brim of his hat. “You still thinking about Nash? I found out he’s gonna be fine, darlin’. Don’t you worry. He won’t be the same, but he’ll live.”

“I know that.” I grunt, my eyes burning with tears for him.

“Then what is it? Tejas?”

My chest heaves.

“It’s everything, Pops,” I admit, punching the bag again. “Nash’s accident, and I still can’t manage to hold on for eight fucking seconds. I’m an embarrassment, so I need to keep practicing. Keep going. I can’t stop.”

I punch and punch and punch so hard that my knuckles almost crack. This is going to set Nash back at least a year as he recovers, and I feel for him, for that dream of his that was so close, but just out of reach.

“Darlin’,” my dad says, gripping my shoulders. His rumbly voice is calmer than the eye of a storm. “You don’t need to sprint after your dreams. They’ll be there waiting for you. Take a breath. Get some coffee. Breathe.”

“I don’t want coffee,” I cut out, my frustration bubbling over.

I punch the bag again.

“Well, too damn bad,” he grunts right back. “’Cause Lana’s in that fancy car of hers, and she’s been waiting on you for over thirty minutes. You’re being rude to her, so you’re gonna take a break, grab some coffee, and bring me back one of those blueberry scones I know Gerald’s lady friend makes fresh every morning. Your dreams will always be here waiting for you, but the people? They might not be around forever. ”

I glance toward the gym entrance, guilt pricking beneath my skin.

I can just make out the silhouette of Lana’s waiting figure, hunched against her Porsche.

I’ve turned down so many coffee dates with her all because I needed to practice, but she never stops asking me to come out. I don’t want to be the woman who is constantly saying no. The girl who’s so wrapped up in her goals that she forgets to be there for the people who matter. I’ve spent so much of my life sprinting after this dream that I forgot I have a life outside this sport left to live.

Sighing, I lower my fists.

“Fine,” I mutter, slinging my towel over my shoulder. “I’ll get the coffee.”

He presses a scratchy kiss on my cheek. “Smart girl.”

“I’m so glad you actually decided to get coffee because, holy shit, this is too good. I’m calling it. Boone wants you back,” Lana blurts, slamming down her oat-milk cappuccino with extra foam and a shot of pumpkin spice. She drinks pumpkin spice well into the summer.

Lana leans back in her velvet wingback chair. I don’t think Gerald, the owner, has updated the furniture in this old house-turned-coffee shop since the forties. He still has the same pink floral wallpaper.

“I don’t care what he wants. He doesn’t matter anymore,” I say, though I’m glad we’re talking about Boone and not Nash. I need a light distraction from all that heaviness, and Boone doesn’t dredge up feelings.

Not anymore.

She slaps the counter. “Oh, but you matter to him, babe.”

Gerald shuts off the espresso machine and points a wrinkled finger at Lana, effectively saying, tone it down, young lady with just his eyes. “I can still hear you, Alanna.”

“Sorry, Gerald!” she sing-songs.

Gerald opened Granite Falls Coffee twenty years ago, and he can sum up his entire life in one breath, so by the time you finish ordering coffee, you know he’s got twenty-three grandchildren, a wife who died of old age, and a new “lady friend” who makes the best blueberry scones but won’t share her secret recipe.

We love the Geralds of the world.

“Anyway,” she says. “What’re you gonna do about Boone?”

I sip my murky coffee. “Nothing. I don’t care if Boone wants me back because I don’t want him back. Honestly, I don’t know what I ever saw in him.”

Lana nods. “Good, because if you chose him over Wyatt, I’d actually disown you as a friend.”

“There’s not even a choice,” I say fervently.

Lana leans back, scrutinizing me with an impressed smile. “Look at you defending the blond men of the world. Since when did you turn over that leaf? I didn’t realize you had a thing for golden boys.”

“I don’t. I just have a thing for Wyatt.”

I think the reason I always went for the broody assholes is because I never loved myself enough to fall for someone I deemed worthy. I settled for men who used to treat me like shit because I felt like shit, but maybe all these insecurities were planted in my head by other people, not me. I want to be good enough for a man like Wyatt.

My phone buzzes on the wooden table, and I flip it over to see a text on the screen.

Wyatt

I can’t stop thinking about you

Butterflies roar to life in my stomach, and I press my lips together to hide my smile. I can’t believe this man who I’ve known for over a decade is giving me toe-curling, feet-kicking butterflies like some high school crush.

Another buzz.

Another under-the-table feet kick.

Wyatt

Or last night… on the kitchen counter (;

I’m tempted to snuggle into myself.

Lana slaps a manicured hand to the table, grinning smugly. “Oh, babe. Look at that smile! You totally knocked boots, didn’t you? How was it? I need details.”

Heat climbs up the back of my neck. I used to give her all the details about the guys I slept with, but Wyatt’s different. “It was great,” I mumble into my black coffee.

She groans. “No. I need more than this. Pick a different adjective.”

“Fine,” I say, keeping my voice low. “It was really great, but I don’t want to talk about it because it’s personal.”

“Okay, fine. I get it.” Her red lips spread into a smile. “I’m happy for you, babe, and not jealous at all that you’re having amazing sex.”

I let out an amused snort.

She nibbles her bottom lip, mulling something over as she looks at the old historic marker plaque hanging on the wallpaper. She’s always had a thing for historic landmarks and pulls us over anytime she sees one on the highway.

This sign says the rustic coffee shop was the filming spot for some seventies horror chainsaw movie. I’m not sure that’s the vibe people want while sipping their morning coffee, but to each their own.

“How’s Wyatt feel about Boone being back?” she finally asks.

I shrug, the motion causing his Guardians sweatshirt to slide down my shoulder. He gave it to me this morning, and it smells like his cologne, so I can’t stop sniffing the fabric. “I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. Boone and I are done. He might as well be an invisible part of my past.”

“You really think he’ll be okay with it?” she prods.

“Yeah, Wyatt’s not the jealous type anyway, and I don’t want Boone. I want Wyatt and Vi. They’re my people now.”

It’s the first time I’ve spoken the truth, and it feels so right. There’s still that gut-wrenching dread that something’s going to go wrong, but I’m trying to be more like him and not let those worries get to me.

“I bet he’s gonna hate it when he finds out Boone’s back,” she says.

I wave a hand, ignoring the stone of unease that just dropped in my stomach. “He’ll be fine. They’re both gentlemen, so I’m sure they’ll be civil to each other.”

“Sure,” she agrees warily. “As civil as cavemen.”