Chapter 13 #2
She rolls her eyes. “Sadie, come on. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t plan something to celebrate you?”
“A good one. One that respects my boundaries. Let’s call it my birthday wish. No cake or candles required.”
She shakes her head. “No. I can’t accept that.”
“Please?” I beg. “Just let it be another day.”
She studies me for a minute, quietly scheming. I can practically see the plan forming behind her eyes. It’s not often that people tell her no.
“I should get back to work,” I say, sliding off the stool.
“Wait!”
I turn. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are, ‘Sadie, I respect your wishes and vow to do absolutely nothing,’ I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay, I hear you…but what if it wasn’t only about you?”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“A joint party. You and someone else.”
Why couldn’t Mia have texted literally any other time?
The universe is punishing me. This is my karma.
“I don’t know.” I sigh.
“We were already planning to go out for Lane’s birthday tomorrow,” she adds quickly. “So we’d just be doubling the celebration.”
My stomach hollows out.
It’s Lane’s birthday? My Lane?
I can’t even be upset he didn’t tell me when I’ve been doing the exact same thing. Why didn’t he want me to know?
Guilt floods my veins. This is a really great start to being an actual couple. We’re already keeping secrets from each other.
“He didn’t tell me,” I say quietly.
She smiles, completely unaware of the internal chaos fizzling in my head.
“Probably because he doesn’t know. His birthday isn’t for another week or something—it’s a surprise party.”
“Oh.”
“Wes was supposed to tell you.” She tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t get his texts?”
I chew my bottom lip. “No, I guess not.”
“Oh, weird.” She continues. “Well, with everyone being so busy, this is the only weekend we can all go together. You were already coming—might as well let us celebrate you, too.”
I hesitate, but resistance feels pointless. Lydia always wins. Maybe this is a sign that I need to be more optimistic.
“Okay.” I sigh in surrender. “Fine.”
She squeals, practically vibrating. “It’s cowboy themed, since Lane is still a baby cowboy, and Brant promised me the mechanical bull will be good to go. This is going to be so much fun!”
I force a smile and wave goodbye. It’ll be something, alright.
Lydia was not exaggerating about the theme.
She’s wearing the remaining ten percent of a T-shirt, cut into a micro tube top with a beer logo on it, and paired it with shorts that could qualify as denim underwear. Her black boots and hat are the perfect cherry on top for her pinup cowgirl look.
I feel overdressed in my favorite stolen flannel, knotted just above my navel. A white lace bralette peeks through the open V, just enough to tease.
Lane spots me the second he climbs out of his truck. The look he gives me hides none of the desire burning in his eyes. It’s slow and hungry and it makes this entire night feel worth it.
Everyone heads inside, but he catches my wrist, pulling me into him. The kiss is deep and a little rough, like he’s been waiting all day for this.
If I thought we could get away with it, I would have asked him to take me to his truck right then and there, let him unwrap his present early.
I didn’t care that it felt a little cliché, but I wasn’t going to double up and lose my virginity in the back seat of my boyfriend’s truck.
My boyfriend. It still doesn’t feel real, but I’m getting used to the idea.
He presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my skin. I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel like this—safe and wanted. Desired for more than just physical stuff or what my father’s connections could do.
That night in the Hills was a nightmare brought to life, and for a while, I thought maybe that was it for me.
That there’d be no escaping the cycle. I’d always be trapped inside the version of myself that everyone wanted me to be.
Forced to smile and pretend I was fine when in reality, I’d never be whole.
But in the end, I’m thankful in a way, because it led me here. To this place. To him.
He never asks me to be anything other than who I am. And somehow, without even trying, he’s shown me that I’m not broken. That I get to make choices for me. I get to decide when and who and why.
I want this. Not because I feel like I should. Not to prove something, escape something, or fix something.
But because I want him.
So, tonight is the night.
When I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll be in his bed, freshly nineteen, and no longer a virgin.
I’ll be his.
Lydia’s been practically waterboarding me with tequila all night, but I’m finally drunk enough to admit she was right. This is one of the best nights I’ve ever had.
Lane spins me around the dance floor, and I feel weightless—like every worry outside this bar doesn’t exist.
Somewhere between the laughter and the music, something shifts. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Finding someplace I fit. These people. This way of life. Him.
Maybe it’s just the tequila muddling my brain, but the thought of leaving aches like a bruise beneath my ribs. An ache that has nothing to do with the handsome cowboy wrapped around my waist.
Lydia elbows her way through the crowd, dragging us toward a room in the back.
I spot the mechanical bull and shake my head. “Nope. No way. Not happening, Lyd.”
“Don’t be a chicken shit!” She grins. “You saw the guys at the rodeo. If they can do it, so can you.”
“That is nowhere near the same thing—“ Lane starts, but she shuts him up with a palm to the face and shoves me forward.
“You’ve got this, Sadie!”
Fuck. Me.
I stumble, laughing, but Lane steadies me. His voice is low and grounding as his eyes flick between mine. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“I know,” I breathe, glancing over at the faux bull in the center of the ring before looking back at Lane. “But she’s not going to let it go. Might as well get it over with now.”
Shifting onto my tiptoes, I kiss him, not worrying who sees. I’m done hiding.
We’re telling Heath tomorrow.
And I want everyone to know that Lane Hartford is mine.
He squeezes my hand reassuringly before letting me go and going to stand with Lydia, who isn’t even trying to mask her excitement.
I climb up onto the bull, shifting in the seat. My thighs grip the sides tightly and I grab hold of the leather strap near the head.
“Give me a thumbs-up when you’re ready to go, sweetheart,” the operator calls.
I look over my shoulder to where Lane and Lydia are standing and my insides dip. The rest of our group has gathered around them. I should be looking for Lane, but my eyes betray me—finding Wesley instead, his gaze already locked on mine.
“Go Fuck Yourself” starts playing. How ironic. My hands shake as I tighten my grip on the leather strap. My eyes shift to the operator, I give him a thumbs up, and the bull starts moving.
It’s slow at first, subtly dipping and rolling in rhythm with the beat.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
I try to let my body relax and flow with the movement, feeling the music. My hips tilt and grind against the bull.
A few hoots and cheers ring out, but I can’t tell who. Can’t hold back the smile taking over my face.
All at once, my guard is down and the built-up tension reaches a climax. The once-slow pace of the song changes as the beat drops, and with it, the bull’s movement accelerates.
Subtle dips turn to sharp rolls. I grip tighter with my thighs, hips rolling to stay on, heat flashing through me with every twist. And somehow, I manage to keep my seat. The cheers in the background ring a little louder.
The speed increases more and more until the bull is spinning and bucking erratically and I’m thrown off into the inflatable ring.
I’m still grinning and breathless as Lane extends his hand to pull me up and help me over the side.
“Holy fuck! You looked incredible up there.” He grabs the sides of my face and pulls me in for a kiss.
Pure adrenaline and tequila flow through my veins and I lose myself in him. I don’t care that we are in the middle of the bar. I don’t care about the rules. This feels too good.
“Oh, thank God.” Emmett breathes a sigh of relief. “I don’t know how much longer I could have kept that a secret.”
I laugh weakly, but then I feel Lane’s arms slide around me again, and my gaze instinctively flicks toward Wesley.
He’s standing off to the side, gripping his beer bottle so tightly his knuckles are white as his eyes burn into me.
“You knew?” His deep voice cuts into the chattering conversations, dousing me like a bucket of ice water. He tears his gaze away from me, shifting to Emmett.
“Yup.” Emmett laughs. “Accidentally walked in on them playing tonsil hockey in the barn when you sent me on that witch hunt for the stupid green bucket.”
Wesley’s eyes sweep the group. “Who else knows?”
Landon speaks up first. “I did. But you knew that.”
“Um, I suspected something was going on,“ Lydia adds. “So fuck you guys for not telling me.”
Emmett raises his hands. “Don’t come at me. I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Does my dad know?” Wesley asks. This time, his eyes are on me. The weight of his gaze makes it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t care what he thinks. But I do.
Lane wraps his arms around me tighter, wordlessly reminding me I’m not alone.
I lift my chin. “We’re telling Heath tomorrow.”
Wesley scoffs. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?”
“I didn’t plan any of this. It just…happened. I’m trying to do the right thing now.”
Lane’s thumb draws slow, steady circles over my hip, anchoring me in place.
“Yeah,” Wesley says, bitter. “You’re a regular Mother Teresa.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Lane’s voice cuts in as he steps forward.
But Wesley doesn’t even look at him, his gaze still fixed on me. There’s a tiny glimmer of emotion there.
It’s not hatred—it’s something much worse.
Something like longing and regret.