6. Josephine
CHAPTER SIX
Josephine
By the time I lock up the clinic, my brain feels like it’s been running in tight circles all day.
Charts, appointments, and a nervous gelding that refused to cooperate. Mrs. Sanderson’s cat again. Somewhere between all of that, I’ve checked my phone more times than I’d like to admit.
Which is annoying.
I don’t do that. I don’t wait on messages or build pieces of my day around whether someone texts me back. My life is structured, full in ways that don’t require distractions.
And yet…
I glance at my phone again as I slide it into my jacket pocket.
Still nothing.
I exhale slowly, forcing the tension out of my shoulders as I step off the curb and head toward the diner.
It’s just conversation. That’s all this is.
A few texts. Some flirting. Something light to fill the space at the end of a long day.
Nothing more; that’s the agreement, that’s the point.
The bell above the door of Spurs Diner jingles as I step inside, and the familiar warmth wraps around me instantly. The place is busy, with half the booths full, low conversation humming under the clink of cutlery and the occasional burst of laughter.
“Josie!” Penny cuts through the noise immediately.
She’s already waving from a booth near the window, bright and impossible to miss.
I slide in across from her, setting my bag down beside me. “You’re early.”
“I’ve been here ten minutes,” she says, like it’s a personal sacrifice. “I almost ordered without you.”
“That would’ve been devastating and completely ruined our weekly routine.”
“I know.” She leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “You look tired.”
“I am tired.”
She reaches for her menu, even though I know she’s already decided what she’s getting. “You need fries.”
“That’s not a solution to anything.”
“It’s a solution to most things,” she corrects.
Before I can argue, Jessie appears at our table, pen already poised. “What can I get you, hon?”
“Cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake,” Penny says immediately.
Jessie looks at me. “And you?”
I hesitate for half a second. “Just coffee. And… fries.”
Penny beams like she’s just won.
“Coming right up,” Jessie says, scribbling it down before moving on.
I lean back against the booth, letting myself settle into the rhythm of the place. The diner makes things feel simpler. Like the edges of the day soften a little.
“Okay,” Penny says, folding her arms on the table. “Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Liar.”
I sigh. “It was a normal day.”
“You’re a veterinarian. Your normal involves bodily fluids and people panicking over goats. I want details.”
I open my mouth to respond, but my phone buzzes. Everything in me stills. I try to ignore it, but can’t. Just in case.
I pull it out, glancing down.
Clay.
Penny notices the way my eyebrows cock. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
I don’t answer right away, which is answer enough.
“Josie,” she says, leaning across the table like this is the most important thing that’s happened all day. “I can’t believe you have a man.”
“I don't have a man.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “You have a texting situation.”
“That's not a thing.”
“It absolutely is a thing.” She nods toward my phone. “Well? What did he say this time?”
I glance down again before I can stop myself.
Clay: You off work yet?
Simple, casual, and somehow… not.
“I’m not narrating my messages to you,” I say, sliding my phone onto the table face down.
Penny gasps as if I’ve personally offended her. “You have to. It’s part of the friendship contract.”
I ignore her. It lasts approximately three seconds.
“He asked if I’m off work,” I admit.
She claps her hands once. “Okay. Good. We like that. It’s attentive but not clingy.”
“I wasn’t aware we were analyzing this.”
“We’re absolutely analyzing this,” she says. “What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know. That I’m at dinner?”
“With me,” she adds quickly. “Make sure he knows that.”
I blink. “Why?”
“So he doesn’t think you’re just sitting around waiting for him.”
“I’m not sitting around waiting for him.”
“Exactly,” she says, satisfied. “So we establish that immediately.”
I stare at her before I realize she might be right.
Josie: Just finished. At the diner with a friend.
I set the phone down immediately after sending it, like distance will somehow make this less immediate.
Penny watches me like she’s witnessing something deeply entertaining. “You like him.”
“I barely know him.”
“That’s not what I said.”
I reach for my coffee the second Jessie sets it down in front of me, using the heat as an excuse to focus on anything else. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what's it like?”
I hesitate, because I don’t have a clean answer for that.
“It’s…” I trail off, searching for the right word. “Easy.”
Penny’s expression softens slightly. “Easy can be dangerous.”
“I’m aware.”
“Especially with someone like Clay McCoy.”
Her tone makes me look up. “What does that mean?”
She leans back, considering me. “It means… he’s not exactly known for staying in one place.”
“I gathered that.”
“He’s charming,” she continues. “Everyone knows that. And he’s fun. But he doesn’t stick around. Not for anything.”
I nod slowly. “That’s fine.”
She studies me. “Is it?”
“Yes.” I offer her a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Mm.”
“I’m not,” I repeat. “I just got here. I have a job, a routine, things I’m building. I don’t need…” I gesture vaguely. “Complications.”
Penny tilts her head. “And he’s not a complication?”
“No.”
My phone buzzes again.
My stomach flips before I can stop it.
I glance down.
Clay: Friend, huh? Should I be worried?
A small smile pulls at my mouth. I know he’s just being funny, which makes it easier to play along.
Josie: Only if you’re easily replaceable.
Penny watches my face like she’s reading a live broadcast. “Oh, you’re flirting.”
“I’m not…”
My phone buzzes again.
Clay: That depends. You think you can replace me?
I inhale slowly.
Penny grins. “You love this.”
I ignore her.
Josie: You seem pretty confident I couldn’t…
Clay: Hey, I was there too on that night. I know how good it was.
Heat floods my face instantly.
Penny leans forward. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Josie.”
“Nothing helpful.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re blushing.”
“I'm not—”
“I have eyes.”
I press my lips together, looking down at my coffee like it’s suddenly fascinating.
“Okay,” Penny says, softer now. “Real talk.”
I glance up.
“You can have fun,” she says. “You’re allowed to. But just don’t expect him to be anything other than what he is.”
“I’m not expecting anything,” I say.
And that’s the truth. Isn’t it?
“I mean it,” she adds. “He’s not the settling down type.”
“I don’t want him to be.”
She nods. “Okay.”
The food arrives, breaking the moment. For a while, we fall into easier conversation. Work. Town gossip. Penny’s running commentary on half the people who walk through the diner.
I laugh more than I expect to, relax more than I’ve allowed myself to in days, and through it all my phone sits on the table.
Buzzing.
Again.
And again.
By the time I climb out of the shower, the scents of the clinic and the diner are gone, and I finally begin to relax. Well, until my phone buzzes once more.
I pull it out as I walk toward the kitchen, flicking on the light.
Clay: What are you doing now?
Josie: Just at home.
Clay: Alone?
My breath catches slightly.
Josie: Yes.
Clay: That’s a shame.
My fingers hover over the screen.
“You’re not doing this,” I murmur to myself.
I’m absolutely doing this.
Josie: Oh yeah?
Clay: Well, if I was with you, we could be having fun once more.
I wander toward the couch, continuing to text back.
Josie: What would you be doing to me then?
Clay: Kissing you. Taking off whatever you’re wearing...
Heat flushes through my chest. My grip on the phone goes tight. I can almost feel the shadow of his hands on me.
I crash onto the couch.
Clay: By the way, what are you wearing now?
I shouldn’t. But my cottage’s empty and my heart is pounding wildly. I type, then erase, then type again:
Josie: Nothing yet. Just a towel. Was in the shower.
Clay: Christ.
Clay: Are you cold?
Josie: No. Not really.
Clay: Let me warm you up.
The little dot blinks, and I can see him at some rodeo grounds, or maybe at a hotel bar, hunched over his phone with that hungry look that makes my neck prickle.
I trace the towel higher on my chest, tuck it under my arm. Watch the steam crawl lazily from my skin. I want him very suddenly and terribly close, in a way that’s both old and unfamiliar.
Clay: Would you let me?
Josie: Yes. If you were here.
Clay: I’d start slow. You like that, right?
No one talks to me this way, and I’m sure he knows it.
The cursor waits for me, impatient. A part of me, the naughty part, wants to see how far he’ll go… and how far I’ll let him.
Josie: I might want fast.
Clay: I know you would.
Clay: I’d make you wait. Put your hands behind your head.
A tiny, involuntary pulse shudders down the backs of my thighs, electric and slick, wrecking me.
It’s just words, just a man somewhere impossibly far away, and yet I tilt my neck back into the angle of the couch, imagining the press of his knee against the cushions, the weight of him, of his mouth, sliding up my leg.
Josie: And then?
The answer flashes back:
Clay: I’d taste you. All of you.
My forehead goes hot. I can see the blur of his jaw, the flex in his forearm, can almost feel the wet brush of his tongue.
That slide and hush, the inside-out sweetness of being stretched open by his mouth. The memory hits: the taste of him, the way it didn’t matter whose hands were whose, whose breath belonged to which name.
Clay pressed me into the kind of wordless oblivion I didn’t want to come back from.
I look at the phone, the shape of my own desperate face reflected in the midnight slick of the glass. I could stop, put the phone down, close my eyes and wait for the heat to drain away.
But I don’t.
Josie: You’re a liar. You never go slow.
Clay: I do. When I have to.
Clay: Don’t believe me?
Josie: Never have.
Clay: You can always ignore me.