Chapter 10 #2
When he gets in and shuts the door, the quiet feels thicker. Not awkward. Just full.
He doesn’t start the engine right away.
“Sorry,” he says, glancing over at me. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene in there.”
“You didn’t.” I shake my head. “That woman did.”
“She’s a buckle bunny,” he mutters, jaw tight. “Been chasing me for a while and can’t seem to take a hint.”
My lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Guess it’s nice to know I look kissable in poor lighting.”
His gaze flicks to mine. “You’d look kissable in a tornado.”
That earns a laugh from me, and just like that, the tension breaks.
I look out the window for a beat, then back at him. “You want to come in? For a drink?”
He studies me. Not just my face but me. Like he’s giving me the chance to take it back.
I don’t.
“I’d like that,” he says, voice low.
It starts with a ping.
Then another.
By the time we get back to the hotel, my phone is lighting up with notifications like it’s on fire. Mentions, messages, tags. Nash’s phone is doing the same.
He grimaces as he comes to a stop in the lobby. “I need to take this. It’s my daughter.” A moment later he answers, “Hey sweetheart.”
I step away to give him privacy. And to check my own phone. When I glance down at the screen I freeze.
@RodeoRumorRoundup: Looks like fan-favorite bronc rider Nash Kimzey had a little more than just 8 seconds of excitement in Fort Worth…
Attached: a blurry-but-decent shot of me in Nash’s arms, kissing him like I meant it. My black dress. His black hat. The intimacy unmistakable.
I scroll down and the comments are already flooding in.
@CowgirlCrys: Wait. Is that Sam Stone’s sister??
@BullriderBrat: She’s cute but way too fat for someone like Nash!
@NashNation: My man moves FAST. Wasn’t he just with that barrel racer last month??
@WesternWatchdog: Wonder what Sam Stone thinks about this??
My heart thuds in my chest as my brain scrambles to process it all. I scroll faster. And then I get a text from Tish.
Tish Garcia
Girl. You’re viral. Like RODEO viral.
Also you look HOT. But also WTF.
My fingers tremble slightly as I open my texts. One from Sam sits unread.
Sam Stone
Just saw the photo. Want me to say something?
And then, like the universe isn’t done yet, another ping.
Will Flowers
What in the hell are you doing, Phern?
And suddenly, everything good about the night—the steak, the dancing, the kiss—feels like it’s spiraling into something I can’t control. Like it was never mine to hold in the first place.
I’m still staring at Will’s message, throat tight and chest burning, when Nash walks up.
“Sorry. Natalie saw the photo and was freaking out.”
I blink, looking up. His voice is calm, but there’s something guarded behind it. His eyes are softer than I expected.
He rubs the back of his neck, jaw tight. “I haven’t been photographed kissing another woman since her mother died.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“Nash,” I whisper, stepping toward him. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears sting my eyes—fast and hot and humiliating—and I hate how quickly they fall. I try to blink them away, to turn my face, but Nash is already there, pulling me in like it’s instinct.
“Hey now,” he murmurs, voice warm against my temple. “This isn’t your fault, Phern. And if you remember, I wanted to kiss you out there.”
His thumb brushes the corner of my eye. And when his lips press gently to the place where my tears touched skin, my breath stutters.
But before I can sink into that warmth—before I can exhale—
click.
That sound cuts sharper than it should.
We both turn. And standing just outside the doorway, phone raised and smug satisfaction painted across her face, is the same woman from the dancehall.
“Seriously?” Nash snaps, the sharpest edge I’ve heard in his voice all night.
She flinches, but doesn’t stop. “Just doing what the fans want.”
In one smooth motion, he pulls off his hat and lowers it over my face, shielding me as he guides me toward the elevator. His arm is firm around my back. Protective. Furious. Steady.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “We’re not playing their game.”
But even as the elevator doors close, my mind spins. Because someone always wants a piece. And this time, I don’t know what it’ll cost.
By the time we’re standing in front of my door, my phone is exploding. His is, too, though he seems less bothered by it.
I sigh. Pick it up. And brace myself.
@WesternWhispers: Two photos in one night? Miss Phern Stone’s not wasting any time. #NashKimzey #RodeoRomance #SamStoneSister
@RodeoWatch: Looks like Nash Kimzey’s got a new cowgirl in his life. And she’s not just any pretty face. She’s Sam Stone’s sister.
@BarrelGirlBarbie: I mean, she’s hot, but it’s giving PR stunt.
@CowboyCanon: Noooo! This isn’t fair! Nash is in Ft. Worth and didn’t go home with me? Instead he went with a *cow emoji*
@MissyLovesD: Wow. Nash is WAY too hot for someone like Phern Stone. Rumor has it she’s still a virgin!
I scroll faster, heart pounding. It’s a blur of opinions, guesses, people tagging me in threads I never asked to be in.
My text messages aren’t any calmer.
Tish Garcia
It’s officially gone nuclear.
Also please tell me you’re okay. I’m ready to fly in.
The next one is from Sam.
Sam Stone
Just saw the second photo. You alright? Want me to say something? Or punch someone? Or both?
Then Liam.
Liam Stone
What the hell’s going on in Texas? Call me!
And then inevitably Will.
Will Flowers
You’re really making headlines tonight.
That one stings. Not because he’s wrong. But because there’s no kindness behind it. I glare at the door, knowing he’s just on the other side.
Nash sighs. “I’m real sorry about this, Phern. Now my PR team’s wanting me to come up with a statement.”
I blink. “Statement?”
“On what tonight was.” He lets out a dry, tired laugh. “It’s times like this I really hate being so well-known. Can’t even kiss someone without it turning into a press release.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
He glances at me. “Surely you’ve experienced some of it being Sam’s sister?”
I nod slowly, the familiar ache settling in my chest. “Only once. In college. Thought I met the one.”
Nash stays quiet, listening.
“He was everything I thought I wanted—smart, charming, intense in that bookish ‘I write poems about heartbreak and existentialism’ kind of way.” I smile without humor. “Turns out all he wanted was backstage access to Sam. The VIP life.”
Nash winces. “Ouch.”
I shrug, like I’ve moved on. Like it didn’t shatter me. “I was young. Stupid. Romantic. In denial. Kind of made me afraid to get back on the horse, so to speak.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Okay. Here’s one. Met this girl a few months ago, thought we had something real. She was sweet, funny, flirty. Thought she actually saw me.”
I look at him. “What happened?”
He exhales. “Turns out she was trying to land a deal with one of my sponsors. Said dating me would boost her exposure.”
“Ouch. Did it work?”
His mouth pulls into a bitter half-smile. “Sadly, it did.”
We stand in that quiet for a while until he sighs.
“Guess I should head out.”
He doesn’t try to kiss me, and that’s fine.
“I’ll text in the morning,” he says. “Maybe we can get brunch.”
“I’d like that.”
I wait until he’s gone and then unlock the door. And walk straight into Will.
He’s standing just inside, jaw tight, arms crossed, eyes sharp and dark.
And pissed.