Chapter 9
Sunday
“This isn’t a date,” I say breathlessly as I toss my phone onto the bed, gripping my towel tighter above my cleavage and nudging the bedroom door closed behind me.
Then I drop the towel and pad over to where I’d laid out my clothes, slipping my lace panties up my thighs.
A noncommittal sound comes from my phone and I can’t help but roll my eyes, laughing quietly.
As soon as I pull on my lace bra and my baby blue shirt, I grab my phone from the comforter and say, “I’m being serious, Haven. This is Jason freaking Coleson that we’re talking about here. Just because he was, like, sweet with me back when we were in high school, doesn’t mean that I’m not aware that he’s a total stud in Phoenix Falls.”
I mean, if he’s offering to hang out with me on a Friday afternoon then I presume that Jason is currently single – but no way is a guy that handsome not getting propositioned by gorgeous women every Saturday night.
I drop my phone back onto the quilt, swallowing down the nervous flutter of jealousy as I ease my denim jeans over the curves of my hips.
Haven purses her lips before glancing back at me from the FaceTime call on the screen.
“So you’re just two hot single people, barebacking in the mountains on a Friday afternoon… as friends?” she asks innocently.
“Okay, so, first of all, this is the twenty-first century, so we’re going for a ride – not ‘barebacking’ in the mountains.” At least, I hope that we’re not barebacking because I’ve never ridden without a saddle before. “Second of all, he’s Casey’s friend, and that deserves a forbidden category all of its own. And third? If he was interested in dating me, I think he would have been a little more obvious about it.”
Then I open up my little compact mirror and begin carefully brushing mascara up my eyelashes.
Haven lifts an amused eyebrow, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
Do you usually wear make-up when you’re hanging out with ‘just a friend’?
“Uh-huh,” she says teasingly. “Definitely not a date.”
I meet Haven’s knowing eyes and we both burst into giggles when suddenly a loud banging sound captures my attention from the front of the cabin.
Three no-nonsense raps, and then nothing but my own gentle breathing.
I blink quickly down at Haven and she nods, blowing me a kiss.
“Talk later, okay?” I tell her before ending the call, and then I fluff my hands through my curls as I make my way out of the cosy bedroom. I walk through the cabin’s living area, butterflies in my stomach as I reach the foyer.
Then I slip my feet into my cowgirl boots, take a deep breath, and open the door.
And I find Jason Coleson leaning one giant shoulder against the doorjamb, large thumbs hooked in his belt-loops as those striking eyes meet mine.
One corner of his mouth lifts up into a handsome smile.
“Hey.”
I can’t help the warmth that pools in my belly or the happy dimples that pucker my cheeks at the sound of his deep voice.
“Hey,” I say back to him, smiling as I step out onto the porch, and he shifts back about half an inch so that I can lock up the front door. My eyes slide down to his boots and I swallow nervously at how big they are.
“Good week?” he asks, totally at ease as he begins descending the porch steps.
I’m not about to tell him that I spent the week ransacking Casey’s cabin for a key to the bar in town that I knew I would find, and then proceeding to stop by his secret investment to scope out what needs to be worked on. I’ve already compiled a list of all the things he needs purchasing to finish it.
And I have every intention of purchasing them for him.
Because given the state of Casey’s latest bank statement, helping him fix up his bar feels like the least that I can do.
Instead, I breathe out a raspy, “Uh, yeah, it was sooo relaxing.”
Jason glances down at me, searching my eyes with a wry look.
“Sounds it,” he says teasingly, before tugging open the door to his enormous truck.
The passenger door.
He just opened the door for me.
I blink at it for a long moment before sliding my eyes up to meet his.
Oh God, I think to myself. This is definitely a date.
Jason gently lifts his brow before saying, “Unless you wanna drive…?”
I give him an amused smile and then haul myself carefully up onto the step of his truck, my gaze landing on the two take-out cups in the holders as I range myself inside.
Jason makes sure that I’m all in and then closes the door behind me, rounding the hood of the truck before hunching down and heaving himself inside.
The truck rocks under his weight and Jason breathes out a laugh, meeting my gaze as he settles in with a sinful wink.
I bite back my smile, crossing my legs toward him as he starts the engine.
I tip the toe of my cowgirl boot toward the cups that smell suspiciously like hot cocoa.
“Is one of those for me?” I ask, and he smirks as he pulls off the curb.
“Both of them are,” he tells me. “Unless you think my shirt’s looking thirsty again.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I say tauntingly, and he flashes me a look of amused satisfaction.
He removes his hand momentarily from the stick-shift, tucking two fingers beneath a lid to pop it open.
“Didn’t know if you took cream. Got one with and one without.”
He replaces his hand on the shift and I carefully pop both of the lids, peeking inside.
“I take cream,” I admit, touched by the gesture. Something so seemingly simple and yet so sweet. I look up at his strong profile and say, “Thank you, that was really thoughtful.”
Because not only did he just purchase multiple versions of my favourite drink, he actually remembered that hot cocoa is my favourite drink.
He gives me a hint of a smile but keeps his eyes on the road of Main Street, hooking his arm around the back of my seat as we pull up behind a red light.
And when we roll to a stop he finally glances down at my outfit, eyes lingering on my chest before moving slowly down my thighs.
And then his attention is back on the road, his arm dropping from my headrest, and my stomach flips at what just happened as he eases through the green light.
“How often do you ride?” he asks casually.
“Whenever I’m off-shift,” I admit.
“And how often’s that?”
Not often at all.
Without me even saying a word, he does the same calculation that I do, thinking about how many years I’ve dedicated to the now-most-loved bar in Nashville.
I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it really was all work and no play.
And the thing about life? It all balances out eventually.
He glances down at me with an unreadable expression, his chest swelling as he watches me.
“Not often at all,” he says, answering the question for me and reading my mind.
“Hence the… vacation,” I say vaguely, which tugs a small smile from his handsome mouth.
“Uh-huh,” he drawls, totally not buying it.
“How come?” I ask, as I glance back out of the front windshield.
I feel him shift in the seat beside me, that broad chest heaving in my peripheral vision. He swipes a palm down his stubbled jaw and then flicks his indicator with two deft fingers.
“Just want you to be prepared,” he admits. “The ranch’s horses are pretty powerful.”
“How powerful?” I ask carefully, almost amused by how elusive he’s being.
He keeps quiet for a moment and then asks, “Ever ridden a thoroughbred stallion before?”
My eyebrows hit the roof. “ What ?!” I exclaim.
He swipes his palm down his thick thigh. “Take that as a ‘no’,” he rumbles quietly.
“Jason!” I yelp, before throwing my head back in the seat and laughing. “Please tell me that this ranch isn’t for, like, multi-million-dollar show stallions or something.”
His mouth opens for a beat and then, after a moment, he closes it again.
“Jason!” I shout. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says gruffly, although his cheekbones are starting to burn up. “I already know that you’re going to be real good in the saddle.”
I’m way too distracted to analyse that assessment right now.
“I’m not scared for me,” I explain, as gently as I can. “I’m scared because I don’t want to injure someone’s very expensive stallion .”
Penetrating eyes meet mine. “We’ll go slow,” he rumbles.
And for some reason his deep voice has warmth pooling in my stomach.
It takes me a moment to collect myself, and then I nod my head, releasing a shaky exhale as I return my gaze to the country road.
And then, because he withheld that insane information from me, I give him a little smack across the swollen muscles of his biceps.
Jason chuckles quietly, the gravelly sound deep and warm, and he flexes his hard muscles with a knowing smirk.
And when I glance up at him again, it’s just in time to catch him watching me.
“Eyes on the road, Mister,” I tease.
Laugh-lines flex in his cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.”