Chapter 1 #2
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Want to have a game of pool and take your mind off it?”
I smiled despite myself. “You always this observant?”
“Only when I’m interested.”
My pulse skipped. “Is that so?”
He took a sip of his beer. “Mmhmm.”
“And are you interested, Jack?”
He held my gaze. No rush. No bravado. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I am.”
And for the first time all day, I felt it—that easy, unexpected lightness. The sense that nothing was required of me. No fixing. No managing. Just sitting in a bar, flirting with a man who looked at me like this moment was exactly where he wanted to be.
We played pool and talked for two hours. Maybe three—I lost track somewhere between my second whiskey and the moment he made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on it.
He didn't pry. Didn't push for details I wasn't offering. When I deflected with sarcasm, he matched me beat for beat. When I went sharp, he stayed steady. He had a dry wit that kept sneaking up on me, delivering observations so deadpan that it took me a second to realize he was being funny.
I didn't tell him about my family. About the ranch. He didn't tell me about himself either—no job, no hometown, no convenient labels to file away and forget.
We were just two people, stripped of context. Present tense only.
It was the most seen I'd felt in months.
At some point, the bar started emptying out. The jukebox clicked off. The bartender shot us a look that said, Drink up or get married, either way I’m closing.
Jack glanced around, then back at me. “Looks like they’re kicking us out.”
“Rude,” I said. “I was enjoying this.”
“So was I.”
He reached for his wallet, settling the tab before I could object. I decided to let it go. Feminism didn’t require me to die on this hill.
Jack stood. Tall. Solid. Entirely too distracting this close.
“Well,” he said, easy. “Thanks for the conversation.”
I tilted my head, considering him. Then I sighed theatrically. “I’m going to regret this.”
His brow lifted. “Which part?”
“This part.” I leaned in just enough to lower my voice. “I have a room at the motel down the road.”
Jack stilled. Not in a dramatic way. But in a everything inside him just latched onto that sentence way. “Oh?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it’s clean-ish. The bed looked sturdy. The artwork is… aggressively floral.”
His mouth twitched. “High praise.”
I smiled. “This is the bold I said came later,” I said lightly. “Please don’t make me nervous.”
“I’m not trying to,” he said quietly. “Just making sure I heard you right.”
“You did.” I met his eyes, then grinned, emboldened now. “I’m not drunk. I’m not confused. I’m just… spectacularly done being sensible tonight.”
I waited a beat, then leaned in just a fraction and said, bright and unapologetic, “I’m just a girl, standing in a bar, asking you to come back to my hotel room and do very ungentlemanly things to me.”
Jack laughed—low, surprised, genuinely delighted. “Jesus,” he said, stepping closer. “You don’t ease into anything, do you?”
“Why don’t you come back to my room and find out?”
“Careful,” he murmured, smiling like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. “You keep talking like that, and I’m not going to make it out the door.”
“I need you out that door, so—” I ran my fingers across my lips as if I were zipping them shut.
“Message received,” he chuckled. “And for the record?”
“Yes?”
“That was incredibly sexy.”
I lifted my chin. “Good.”
He held my gaze for a second longer, something passing through his eyes—approval, maybe. Definitely interest.
“Okay,” he said. Calm. Certain. “Lead the way.”
The motel room was nothing special. Standard bed, standard dresser, standard ugly artwork bolted to the wall like someone might want to steal it.
I'd checked in earlier, planning to drive home in the morning after my meeting, and now I was standing in the doorway with a man I'd known for three hours and a complete absence of common sense.
The dog waited in Jack's truck without complaint, like this was routine.
Maybe it was. I didn't ask. Didn't want to know.
Jack stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly the room felt a lot smaller than it had before.
"We don't have to," he said quietly. "If you changed your mind."
"I haven't."
"You sure?"
I turned to face him. He was standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, making no move toward me. Giving me space. Giving me the choice.
I'd been making choices for other people for so long, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to make one purely for myself.
"I'm sure," I said. I stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. "I want you."
Something shifted in his expression. Something that looked almost like relief.
"Then you have me," he said.
He closed the distance between us in one step. His hands framed my face, tilting it toward his, and he paused an inch away, breath warm against my lips.
"Last chance to change your mind," he murmured.
"Jack."
“Yeah, beautiful?"
"Stop talking."
He smiled against my mouth. Then he kissed me.
Not hard, not demanding. Just a slow press of his lips against mine, a question and an answer all at once. He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be than right here, learning the shape of my mouth.
I hadn't been kissed like that in... God. Maybe ever.
My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He made a low sound in his throat, and the kiss changed—deeper now, hungrier. His tongue slid against mine, and heat pooled low in my belly, spreading outward until my whole body felt like it was humming.
His hands dropped from my face to my waist, fingers finding the hem of my shirt and slipping beneath. The first brush of his calloused palms against my bare skin made me gasp into his mouth.
"Okay?" he asked, pulling back just enough to check.
"More than okay." I tugged at his shirt. "Take this off."
That smile again. Slow and knowing. "Bossy."
I grinned. “You have no idea."
He pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and sweet Jesus, the man was built. A scar curved along his ribs. I wanted to trace it with my tongue.
So I did.
Jack's breath hissed out between his teeth. His hands tightened on my waist, and then he was walking me backward toward the bed, his mouth finding my neck, my jaw, that spot behind my ear that made my clit pulse.
His fingers were at my shirt buttons, slow and deliberate, peeling it open like he was unwrapping something he’d been patient about all night.
When it fell away, he stopped, and just looked at me.
The hunger in his eyes sent a sharp, dizzy thrill through me—powerful in a way I hadn’t expected, like I’d stepped into something I couldn’t easily step back out of.
“Christ, Maggie.”
I smiled, breath already uneven. “That a good Christ, Maggie or—”
He kissed me again, hard enough to steal the rest of the question, his mouth claiming mine like he’d reached the end of his restraint. He unhooked my bra with an ease that made my pulse jump and tossed it across the room.
And then—oh.
I glanced down, noticing the unmistakable press against his jeans. Heavy. Promising. Very much there. A flicker of nerves hit me, and my breath hitched, realizing just how big he was. Excitement tangled with something dangerously close to awe.
But then his mouth slid down my throat, across my collarbone, lower, and any lingering terror burned off into pure want.
I arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Jack—”
“I’ve got you,” he said roughly, like it was a promise he fully intended to keep. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”
He lowered me onto the bed, his body following, covering mine. The weight of him felt grounding. Safe. His mouth continued its path down my body, mapping every inch, finding places that made me gasp and writhe and forget my own name.
My jeans came off. Then his. Then everything else.
And when there was nothing left between us, he paused again. Propped himself up on his forearms, looking down at me with those warm whiskey-colored eyes.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"You." I pulled him down to me. "I want you."
He gave me everything.
Slow at first, achingly slow, until I was begging him to move. Then faster, deeper, his eyes never leaving my face, watching every reaction like I was something precious he wanted to memorize.
I came apart in his arms. Shattered into a thousand pieces and let him hold every single one.
And when I finally caught my breath, when my heart stopped racing, and my body stopped trembling, he started all over again.
I woke before dawn.
Gray light leaked through the curtains. The bed was warm, the sheets tangled, and there was a man sleeping beside me who I'd known for less than twelve hours.
I lay there for a moment, taking stock.
My body felt loose. Liquid. Every muscle was relaxed in a way they hadn't been in months.
I felt good.
Not guilty. Not ashamed. Not panicking about what this meant or where it was going or how it complicated everything.
Just... so good.
I slid out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. This didn't need to be awkward. It didn't need to be anything. We'd given each other exactly what we'd both needed—escape, connection, release—and now it was morning and real life was waiting.
I found my clothes scattered across the floor and dressed in the dim light. Grabbed my keys from the dresser. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost laughed at the woman looking back at me. Hair a mess. Lips still swollen. Eyes bright in a way they hadn't been in months.
At the door, I paused and looked back.
Jack was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like he owned it. I let myself admire the view one last time—the broad shoulders, the strong back, the way the sheet draped low across his hips.
Thanks for that, I thought. For all of it.
Then I walked out with a huge smile on my face, feeling victorious.
The sun was just cracking the horizon when I pulled out of the parking lot, Wild Creek shrinking in my rearview mirror.
The morning air was crisp through my open window.
I felt lighter than I had in months. Refreshed.
Like I'd finally shaken off the weight I'd been carrying and remembered what it felt like to just be me.
Last night reminded me of something important: I was allowed to be a woman with needs and desires and a life outside of everyone else's problems. I was allowed to want things and take them for myself. Even if that meant being reckless with a stranger.
I mean, it wasn’t like I’d ever see Jack again. He knew what last night was. We both did. And it was something I’d look back on fondly when I’d inevitably need the reminder to put myself first again.
I cranked the radio and headed back home to Copper Creek, leaving last night in the past where it belonged.