Chapter 2
Chapter two
Graham
“Don’t look so smug,” Madeline says from across the bedroom, shooting me a smirk as she refastens the hooks of her bra behind her.
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “I’m not smug.”
She levels me with a look, her blue eyes narrowing.
“Hey, if you hadn’t been making those noises, I might not be looking like this,” I defend myself, sitting up in bed. “I personally don’t mind my roommate knowing how good I make you feel.”
She flings a pillow at me, and I chuckle, deflecting it. “I doubt he heard,” she mutters.
“Oh, he heard.” I smirk at her horrified expression while getting up to retrieve my boxers and sweatpants from the floor.
“Well, we’ll just have to go to my place next time, then,” she says, sauntering over to press a quick kiss to my lips before turning back to find her jeans and t-shirt.
Next time. I’m not normally a next time guy.
But, this is the third time I’ve seen Madeline.
Not that I’m seeing Madeline. She’s fun.
We met at a bar a few weeks ago and went home together.
She gave me her number and told me to call if I ever wanted another fun night.
So, I did. And then I did it again. I’ve never had an official friends with benefits relationship, but this kind of feels like the start to one.
I just don’t want her getting attached.
“This was fun,” Madeline says, pulling me from my thoughts as she grabs her purse off my nightstand. “See you around?” she asks.
I put on a smile. “See you around.”
I follow her out of my bedroom and into the living space of my apartment. I see her to the door, and it isn’t until I turn around that I realize my roommate is still up, standing in the dim light of the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, facing me, munching on some sort of midnight snack.
“Sounded fun,” Harrison mumbles through a smirk.
“It was fun,” I say with a shrug. I join him in the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to see what’s inside. A midnight snack isn’t a bad idea.
“God, I hope you get tested regularly,” Harrison comments.
I shoot him a look. “Are you insulting my company?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes at me. “No, I’m insulting you. If anything, your company should be warned before entering.”
I chuckle, pulling out a bag of shredded cheese and then hunting in the pantry for tortilla chips. “There’s nothing wrong with sex, Harrison, you should try it sometime.”
I can practically feel Harrison’s eye roll.
“And for your information, I do get tested. And I’m safe, so those tests come up empty.” I shoot him a meaningful look before popping my plate of chips and cheese in the microwave.
Harrison laughs at that. “Good to know.”
Despite—or perhaps because of—the constant ribbing, Harrison and I are best friends.
Have been since the second grade. Cedar Ridge, Montana isn’t all that big of a place, and I think we both felt lucky to have found best friends in each other so early in our lives.
Growing up, we did everything together. School, sports, extracurriculars.
We even dated a few of the same girls in high school.
It’s not as unusual, and therefore dramatic, as one might think.
Living in a small town means there are few options.
So yes, we might have punched each other out a few times, but we always got over it.
And even now, we have essentially the same job.
We’re ranch hands on Thatcher Ranch. It’s one of the biggest cattle ranches in the west and pretty much accounts for most of the town’s economy.
And it’s a great place to work. Harrison’s also a rodeo athlete, so he’s often gone from the ranch, traveling the circuit, and works at Thatcher Ranch during his off season.
Speaking of which … it’s a bit late for both of us to be up considering we have to be at work at 7 a.m. “What are you doing up?” I ask, pulling my nachos out of the microwave and digging in.
Harrison makes a face. “My truck’s been acting up. Just spent the last few hours trying to fix it out in the parking lot.”
I offer a sympathetic grimace.
“I’m not quite ready to admit defeat, but I might need to take it to a mechanic.”
“Rough stuff,” I mutter.
He shrugs a shoulder. “Eh, I’ll live.” With that, he crumples up the now finished bag of potato chips he’d been munching on and tosses it in the trash. “Well, I’m going to bed. Night, Graham.”
“Night,” I mumble through a mouthful of nachos as he crosses the living room and disappears through his bedroom door.
I stand in the kitchen, finishing my snack under the dim glow of the overhead light. And ten minutes later, I’m crawling into bed and dozing off.