6. Sally
CHAPTER 6
Sally
LOVE ME LIKE A COWBOY
Despite the cool breeze blowing through the ATV’s open windshield, I’m sweating bullets on the short drive.
I don’t think I was this nervous when I took the boards to become a certified veterinarian. Then again, I wasn’t sitting next to a broad-shouldered cowboy with thighs like tree trunks and eyes so blue that they seem to glow in the shade of the ATV’s roof.
I was doing so well back there at the corral. I was fun, a little flirty. Totally confident. Wyatt looked so damn good on horseback that it was difficult for me to focus, and when he flirted back, my knees got wobbly. But I persevered. I convinced him to have a drink with me.
But now that we’re alone and the time to ask him to be my kinda-sorta fake date is suddenly right in front of me, my heart is in my throat. I run my clammy palms over my jeans in a failed attempt to dry them.
How much spiked cider is too much spiked cider before lunch? Asking for a friend.
“You all right?” Wyatt glances at me, brows lifted. “You seem a little…keyed up.” He says it so casually, like I’m not ab out to jeopardize our friendship and make a total fool of myself by asking for a wildly inappropriate favor.
Everything about Wyatt is casual. Cocky. He’s got one wrist draped carelessly over the steering wheel. His knees are spread, and they almost touch the dash because he’s that tall. That big.
He took off his hat—it’s on the seat between us—and now his long, shaggy hair lifts in the breeze. I detect the faintest hint of wintergreen in the air; Wyatt is addicted to gum. Not like I mind because he always smells fresh and delicious, except when he smokes.
“I, um…had an early morning.”
Wyatt changes hands on the wheel. He uses his left to drive while he pulls the right through his hair, making his bicep bulge against the sleeve of his denim shirt. “Were you playing doctor without me again, Sunshine?”
I involuntarily squeeze my thighs together, but I still manage to laugh. “We got a call a little after three. A mama accidentally kicked her foal and broke the poor baby’s leg.”
“Aw, man, that’s rough.” Wyatt cuts me a look. “But you fixed it, didn’t you? The foal’s leg?”
“I did, yeah. Two plates and six screws later, she should be right as rain.”
“Just another day for you.” Grinning, Wyatt offers me his fist. “Saving lives by screwing.”
God, I love how this man makes me laugh. I give him the fist bump he’s looking for. “Only doing my part.”
“No wonder you brought that.” He nods at the thermos cradled in the crook of my arm. “You deserve a drink. Hell, I do too. I am your biggest cheerleader.”
“Thirsty work for sure.”
“There’s a lot about me that’s thirsty, yeah.”
I lift my elbow and nudge him in the ribs. “Gross.”
“I am as God made me. ”
“And God will most certainly not bless the broken road that led us to your thirst traps.”
“What thirst traps? You need to be on social media to post those.”
“Not having an Instagram account doesn’t make you any hotter, Wy.”
Except it does. It most definitely, definitely does .
His face splits into a smile. “Then why you blushin’, Sal?”
I decide to ignore that question. “I’m just talking about you. The way you walk into The Rattler like you own it. The way you talk to women. You’re like a live-action thirst trap?—”
“It’s actually cute how red you get.”
“It’s the sun, okay? And being up at three.”
Have we always been this flirty? I feel like we’re usually playful, and yet?—
I don’t know, something feels different between us right now. I could be imagining it on account of my extreme, extreme nervousness. But I wonder if our little not-so-fake flirting routine on the dance floor last night amped up the, er, energy between us today.
Then again, I am in the midst of a very long, very serious sexual drought. Maybe I’ve just reached a critical level of dire need that makes me hyperaware of any male in the vicinity.
Wyatt turns his attention back to the windshield. “You said, we got a call. You’re talking about you and your dad, right? Like y’all were, well, together? When the call came? Like in the same house?”
I furrow my brow, my stomach flipping.
Wait a second. Wait. Does Wyatt think I left The Rattler with Beck last night?
Why would Wyatt care? And why won’t my stomach stop flipping at the idea of Wyatt being jealous? That’s just ridiculous.
“Of course we were in the same house. Thanks for the lovely reminder that I live with my parents and sleep in the same twin bed I’ve had since I was three.”
“Welcome,” Wyatt says, his expression relaxing.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he almost looks relieved.
The scent of the air changes, a clean earthiness filling my head. We climb one last hill, and the Colorado River comes into view, a broad stretch of blue-green water that cuts a meandering path through the arid countryside. The strong afternoon light glints off its rippled surface, and I can just hear the quiet, gurgling rush of the water above the sound of the ATV’s engine.
I inhale a lungful of the familiar smells. For a split second, my exhaustion and nervousness lift. I’m fifteen again, and my best friend, Wyatt Rivers, is beside me. There’s no weird energy. No looming moves thousands of miles away. I don’t have a care in the world other than filling the hours of a crisp November afternoon with more of this: fresh air, family. Familiar rituals that are simple but satisfying.
I really don’t want to leave.
Being with Wyatt always feels like coming home.
Heat hits the back of my eyes, my chest squeezing. I look out the open window as Wyatt parks the ATV on the crest of the ridge overlooking the river.
He kills the engine. Without a word, he reaches for the thermos and unscrews the blue plastic cap. The scent of cinnamon, along with a hint of fiery whiskey, fills my head as he turns the cap upside down and fills it with cider.
He holds out the cap to me, steam rising off the cider’s surface. His eyes flick over my face, and his smirk disappears, a pair of indents appearing between his brows.
“What’s on your mind, Sal?”
I hate how easily this man reads me. Knows me.
I love it so much it hurts.
Wyatt’s fingers brush against mine as I take the makeshift cup from him. The heat between my legs blares to new life at the quick, casual, and yet somehow hot-as-hell contact. I remind myself that Wyatt’s like this with everyone.
Still can’t help but feel special. Singled out.
Wanted.
I gingerly hold the cup, heat stinging the pads of my fingers. “Nothing. Everything.”
“Lucky for you, we got all day.” He rests his bent elbow on the doorframe, his hand gripping the ATV’s roof. “Talk to me.”
“I had a really good morning.” I blow on the cider. “And it’s making me not want to go back to New York.”
It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. Feels…nice, if I’m being honest.
Wyatt’s chest rises on an inhale. “Well, yeah. It’s heaven out here right now.” He gestures out the windshield. “No one in their right mind would wanna leave. You’d feel different if it was the dead of July, a hundred ten degrees, and you were stuck doing preg checks all day. Much as you love sticking your arm up cow butts.”
I laugh for what feels like the millionth time today. “I do know my way around cow butts.”
“You’re a goddamn expert. And because you’re an expert, you’d get bored real quick.”
Bringing the cider to my lips, I lift a shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d still love it, despite the heat and the excessive amount of ass jokes people make when I’m around to break the ice.”
Tilting back the cup, I let the cider hit my lips. It’s hot, fragrant. Equal parts strong and sweet.
“Good?” Wyatt’s gaze flicks from my eyes to my mouth and back again.
I smack my lips. “Fall in a cup. Here.”
I pass him the cup and he takes it, rotating it in his enormous mitt of a hand so that his lips hit the same spot mine did. He didn’t do it on purpose. But a quiet yet potent rip of electricity courses through my skin nonetheless.
What I’d give to have his mouth on mine.
I am suddenly starving for this man’s touch. Any man’s touch really. Wyatt’s touch is at the top of my list, but obviously that’s not happening, so I’ll take what I can get.
Who knows when I’ll have the opportunity to satiate that hunger again? The second I’m back in Ithaca, I’ll be hitting the ground running. There won’t be time to go out or meet people. And I can’t jeopardize my career by hooking up with a colleague. I’ve also been there, done that. Got the This guy made me feel like shit T-shirt.
I either speak my mind or forever hold my peace.
Wyatt makes a shockingly sexy, deeply satisfied rumble of pleasure as he swallows the cider. “Damn, Sunshine, that’s delicious.”
You’re delicious , I think as I watch him take another long swallow before handing the cup back to me.
I tilt it back and swallow what’s left in a single audible gulp. The cider singes my tongue, the whiskey setting fire to my blood.
“I have a favor to ask.” I reach for the thermos and refill the cup, grateful for the excuse to not look at Wyatt.
“Answer’s yes.”
“Let me ask it first.”
“Answer’s still yes.”
Goddamn it, leave it to Wyatt to make me smile, despite the tightly wound feeling in my chest.
“Last night, your little trick worked—you pretending to be into me to get Beck’s attention.”
“You go home with him?”
The sharpness of Wyatt’s tone has my head snapping in his direction. His eyes are narrowed, mouth a tight line.
“No. But I—I think I could go home with someone like him if, you know…” Swallowing, I look away. Look down at th e steaming cup of cider in my hand. “If I could just get out of my head a little and have fun with him. With guys in general, I mean. The way I have fun with you.”
His expression smooths ever so slightly. “You sayin’ I’m the best time you’ve ever had?”
Grinning, I lean over to gently elbow him. “I’m saying you have a way of making me feel comfortable in my own skin. I’m able to have a good time with you without overthinking things, which is what I do when I’m with other guys.”
His forehead scrunches. “What do you overthink?”
“What don’t I overthink?” I scoff. “I get so self-conscious when I’m trying to flirt. Like I can’t get out of my own way. I worry that I talk too much or not enough. Am I coming on too strong? Am I wearing the right thing? Saying the right thing? I try so hard to be what I think guys want me to be that I can’t just…be.”
“Maybe you’re hangin’ with the wrong guys, then.”
“I think I just need to take a page out of your book and learn how to let loose a little. If I could feel as comfortable around other guys as I am around you…”
“Right.” He smiles tightly. “You’d be able to have fun with them too.”
My heart dips at the emptiness of his smile. It doesn’t touch his eyes. There’s no way Wyatt is jealous because he thinks of me as a sister. Maybe it’s annoyance I see in his expression? Which I get. With any other guy, I’d immediately back down. Dash home with my tail between my legs.
But I’m determined to get my confidence back. I have to learn to stop overthinking everything, or I’m never going to have a good time with a member of the opposite sex. I’m never going to have good sex, period.
Ultimately, I’m never going to get excited about leaving Texas for New York, which would be a big fucking problem.
It’s now or never. And didn’t Wyatt already say yes? I have nothing to lose .
That’s not true, and you know it.
Shoving that thought aside, I take a deep breath. “I bet you’ve already had fifteen people ask you to go to the potluck, but of course you’re not going because you’re, well, you?—”
“I wasn’t planning on going, no.”
I look up and my stomach swoops at the strange, almost-feral look in Wyatt’s blue eyes.
“But you wanna ask me to be your date, then yeah. Answer’s yes. How many times I gotta repeat myself?”
My heart flutters, and I feel a tickle in the back of my throat. “Don’t change your plans for me. I have an ulterior motive.” Oh God, best to just come out with it. “If you pretended to be my date—like, maybe if I have fun with you, it will give me the confidence boost I need to have fun with other guys…”
A muscle in his jaw tics. “Why’re you doing this, Sally? You want to be with Beck, ask Beck to be your date. He’ll say yes.”
My face burns with embarrassment. “I can’t. Not without getting all uptight about, well, everything. I feel like I need a lesson in how to just…let loose and have fun on a date. And, well, who better than you to teach me? You’re always having fun. And it seems like you make girls feel really, really good about themselves—they can’t get enough of you.”
Silence.
Awful, painful silence that rings with my best friend’s judgment.
The shame that fills me as Wyatt stares me down is unlike anything I’ve experienced, ever. I am hot and prickly all over. Sweat breaks out underneath my arms and along my scalp. He looks…not disappointed exactly. But certainly not pleased.
And do I detect a hint of that jealousy from before? That can’t be right though. Why would Wyatt ever be jealous of who I’m hooking up with?
I knock back the cider with a shaky hand. “You know what? Forget I asked. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable?—”
“Sally—”
“Please forget I ever mentioned it, okay?” I somehow manage to refill the cup. “Friends don’t ask you to fake date them. And I want to be a good friend to you, Wy.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch his expression soften.
“You’re the best friend. Literally.”
“Ha.”
“Why this sudden need for, well, that ?”
The urge to be honest—truly bare it all—grips me. I blame the whiskey.
I already told Wyatt how I was feeling about going back to New York. If anyone found out I was having doubts, my parents especially, I’d be in hot water.
But no one is going to find out because Wyatt can keep a secret.
“It’s been a while since I was able to have fun with a guy, whether it’s at a bar or in bed.” I swallow, hard. “My mind is just this jumble of panic when I’m around men. I end up chasing them away, which sucks but I figured whatever, I’ll just focus on work for a while. But now…God, Wyatt, I feel like I haven’t been touched in forever. Touched well , you know? And going without that for so long, it makes you…” I struggle to come up with the right word to describe how I’ve felt lately. “Sad. Anxious. I doubt myself constantly. I need to make a course correction, reverse the momentum, or I’m afraid…”
“Afraid of what?”
I swallow hard. “That I’ll believe the worst about myself—the lies my doubt tells me when I hit a low, or I’m feeling especially lonely. That I deserve loneliness. ”
More silence.
I pass the cup to Wyatt, and he takes a long, thoughtful sip before running his tongue along his upper lip. The movement is slow, deliberate, and my body pulses when I imagine how that tongue would feel on my own lips.
How it would taste.
I blink, looking away. Honestly, what is wrong with me today? Maybe I really am fifteen again, awash in hormones and haunted by the desire for a deep, good kiss.
Speaking of goodness—I was a good student. I am a good veterinarian. I’ll be a good employee. I’ve always been a good friend and a good daughter.
But what do I have to show for being so damn good for so damn long? A job I’m not sure I want and a raging case of whatever the female version of blue balls is.
I blink at the familiar press of heat in my eyes.
“You’re spiraling, aren’t you?” Wyatt’s voice is different.
Deeper and yet somehow softer too.
My nipples pebble. “No. Just questioning all my life decisions and wondering if I should live off the grid and raise alpacas instead.”
“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me, you know.”
A bark of laughter escapes my lips. “An ass joke. I get it.”
“I do have a nice ass.”
Don’t I know it.
“What am I assuming?” I ask.
“That raising alpacas would be fun.”
“Ha.”
“You don’t deserve to be alone. No one does.” Wyatt’s eyes meet mine over the rim of the cup as he sips the cider. “You’re too smart to let this shit knock you around. Trust yourself, Sal. Sounds to me like you know what you want. You know you deserve better. You just gotta have the balls to ask for better. ”
“As luck would have it,” I say with a scoff, “I don’t have any balls.”
“You did just ask me out.”
“And you turned me down!”
His eyes go wide as he swallows. “I said yes. Twice. Three times. More than that.”
“But that was before you knew what I was asking for.”
Wyatt lets out a breath through his nose, those blue eyes raking over my face. “Do I love the idea of fake dating you, or whatever you’re calling it? No. But I get where you’re coming from, and I want you to get what you need so you can feel better. And once you feel better, I know you’ll absolutely crush it at your new job.”
I blink, heart skipping a beat.
Could this actually happen?
What if it worked?
“You really don’t have to.”
“I know. But I will. For you.”
The sincerity in his words—in his eyes—has me feeling short of breath.
Wyatt pretends to be happy-go-lucky all the time. And while I do think he genuinely likes to have fun and make people laugh, I know Wyatt swims in deeper waters than he lets on. He’s been through some shit. I saw firsthand how losing his parents at eighteen affected him.
Deep down, he’s still the hurt kid who sobbed in my arms not far from this very spot.
Deep down, he cares . A lot. But he rarely shows that side of himself.
He’s showing it to me now, and it’s all I can do not to reach across the ATV and kiss the shit out of him.
“So it’s a fake date.” I tuck my hair behind my ear.
Wyatt looks out the windshield. The breeze blows a stray lock of dark blond hair off his creased forehead. “It’s a fake date. ”
“The potluck starts at seven, I think. I can pick you up at six?—”
“Nah, Sunshine. That ain’t how this is gonna work.” The playful, cocky gleam in his eye is back. “You date me, you don’t drive. You definitely don’t make the plans. I’ll buy some tickets. Then I’ll come grab you, and we’ll have some of that fun you been missin’. Sounds like we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”
If only he meant that literally.
I’m just buzzed enough to smile and say, “I like the sound of that.”
“I’mma show you how fun is done. How it should be done.” He reaches over to put the cap back on the thermos and flashes me a handsome smile. “Hell, you’d better hope I don’t ruin you for everybody else, Sal, because I’m real good at this shit.”
That’s exactly what I’m worried about.