Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(38)
“Sounds like you need to communicate better.”
Shaking his head as he swallows a mouthful of beer, Denver sets his drink down and digs into the front pocket of his jeans. Then he holds his phone out to me, wiggling it slightly to encourage me to grab it. “I don’t know how much more clear I can be.”
His fingertips brush over my hand when I reach for the phone, and I’m totally unaffected by it. “I feel like this is a bad idea. I don’t want to accidentally see or read anything that’ll traumatize me forever.”
Or that will make me completely unravel at the seams.
He laughs. “You won’t.”
“Nothing I won’t be able to unsee? You’re sure?” I look tentatively at the phone in my hand.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Thinking about him sending pictures of himself to somebody…My sinuses burn and an uneven breath rattles in my lungs.
“Denver. If this is an elaborate prank to get me to see a dick pic…” I thrust the phone in his direction, needing the pictures, and God knows what else, as far away from me as possible.
“It’s a joke. I’m trying to get her to leave me alone, not have her begging for more. No pictures, I swear.”
Sighing, I glance up at him through my lashes. “What’s the password?”
“Zero, nine, sixteen.”
My birthday. His lock code is my birthday.
There’s simply no way that’s a coincidence. Not with Denver, who used to sneak into my bedroom and decorate my room for my birthday every year. Even if he hated me—even if he moved on—he wouldn’t have forgotten that date.
Clearing my throat, I quickly look away from him and tap the four digits.
Hit with a barrage of incoming texts from Peyton the moment I unlock the phone, my eyes widen. Invites to go on a date, asking what he’s up to incessantly, and getting increasingly persistent because he hasn’t answered her.
Looking up from the phone, I grimace in his direction. “Well, she’s certainly…passionate.”
“Hear me out. Can you just…pretend like you’re here with me?” His eyes cut to where the girl is presumably standing, then back to me. “Nothing weird. You can be quiet if she comes over here but let me pretend we’re together together.”
A pawn. That’s what I am now.
“Why should I help you get yourself out of this hole you dug? You toy with people’s feelings and you’re bound to end up in messy situations like this.”
Before he can answer, a cutesy voice breaks through the noisy rodeo after-party. “Denny! I was looking for you after your ride.” Her eyes narrow upon seeing me, and I slowly pull my hand away from the paper plate loaded with poutine. I imagine this is what it feels like to be a prey animal. “Oh, you’re the new waitress from the Horseshoe.”
“Actually,” Denver pipes up immediately, “she’s a nurse practitioner.”
I nod. “Blair. I’m helping Dave out at the bar from time to time.”
“Peyton.” She thrusts her hand toward me, and I look her up and down as I reach out to shake it. She seems nice enough. And I can’t blame her for having a crush on Denver—Lord knows I haven’t been able to shake mine since I first noticed how cute he was at thirteen. “How do you know my Denny?”
My Denny plays on repeat until the words don’t sound real anymore and, genuinely, I think I might throw up. Not to be dramatic. Cheese curds, gravy, and tequila are coagulating in my stomach, churning and threatening to ruin this lovely conversation.
Would it be uncalled for to turn a little to the right so I puke all over her cute outfit?
I swallow, looking from Denver to Peyton and back again. “Oh, uh. We were childhood friends.”
“We were a lot more than friends.” Denver smiles, grabbing my hand on top of the table. To my surprise, I don’t pull back. In fact, I let the warmth of his hand fill me with hopeful elation. Or maybe it’s the hot gravy raising my internal body temperature. “Now she’s moved back home, and we’re picking things back up where we left off.”
Is that what’s happening?
No. No, he’s only saying that to scare this poor girl off.
His callused fingertip languidly draws hearts on my palm, and all the arguments about why I won’t pretend to be with him melt away. Sign me the fuck up for future heartbreak, if it means having a few minutes of pretending to be his.
God, I’m pathetic.
“Absolutely.” I squeeze gently around his fingers and smile over at him. “Making up for lost time.”
Denver
Peyton’s fake smile falters for a second. “Oh, that’s super cute…. Well, I’ll see you guys around.”
“Really nice to meet you.” Blair gives her an apologetic look, like she feels bad for stealing my heart as a kid and making me emotionally unavailable for everybody else.
We quietly watch Peyton disappear in the crowd gathered near the bar, neither of us racing to remove our hands from their clasped position on top of the table.
“She’s out of your hair now.” Blair slowly unfurls her fingers from mine and tucks her hands into her lap. “Consider it my repayment for the poutine.”
“I think that’s worth more than a shitty rodeo poutine. Getting her to leave me alone—especially without causing a scene—is easily worth at least two dinners. Next weekend maybe?”