“Hey, Doll.” Some Ken-Barbie looking cowboy is leaned up against the wall when I round the corner.
He reaches for my arm in a way that I don’t appreciate, but I slink past—avoiding his touch—and brush him off with a forced smile and, “The name is Summer.”
The guy smiles back, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. Which is right when a leather glove wraps around my elbow followed by a deep, raspy, “Hey.”
Rhett doesn’t have to pull me hard. My body moves toward him like butter melts onto hot toast.
I turn my back on the other guy and look up at Rhett’s stubbled, rugged face. Fuck. He really is hot. I’ve been trying so hard not to admit that to myself. But every now and then, just a glimpse of him hits me in the gut.
His hair is loose around his shoulders and he’s still wearing the vest covered in sponsor logos over a button-down shirt. A warm gray one this time, unbuttoned just enough for me to see the sprinkling of hair across what I already know is a perfectly toned chest.
I swallow, attempting to move my suddenly dry throat. “I don’t even know what your score was,” I blurt out stupidly. “But you were amazing.”
His whiskey eyes go from pinched in the other guy’s direction to warm and bright.
At me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I take a step back, needing to put a little space between us and the tempting heat of his body. “You . . .” My hands flap around awkwardly as I search for what is the appropriate thing to say to him. “You rode the fuck outta that bull.”
Rhett’s head tips back as a deep, whole-hearted laugh overtakes him. His Adam’s apple bobs, and his fingers give my elbow a familiar squeeze.
“You should get them to put that in an ad about him.” Theo Silva comes up from beside us, grinning. Handsome, but so damn baby-faced next to Rhett.
He holds his hands up and slides them out straight, like he’s imagining a newspaper headline. “Old as balls but can still ride the fuck out of a bull.”
“You little shit.” Rhett’s left hand shoots out and playfully punches at Theo’s vest. They laugh.
Until the blond guy adds, “And every buckle bunny on tour,” as he saunters away.
And that’s when I step out of Rhett’s hold. Because that guy may be a dick, but he’s not wrong. Rhett has a reputation, and I have a bad habit of letting men I should stay away from break my heart.
Our drive back to the hotel is quiet. Strained almost.
Back at the arena, things felt natural. I was laughing, he was laughing, his hands were on me, and his friend was poking fun at him. He seemed himself.
And then that one snarky comment brought it all crashing down into reality. Because I’m here working, and he’s the gig. It’s something I have to remind myself.
This time in the elevator, we don’t stare at each other. At least, I don’t stare at him. Instead, I fixate on my boots as I wiggle my toes inside of them.
I can feel him staring at me, but I don’t meet his gaze. Because when I gave him that thumbs up and he grinned back at me, my stomach flipped and then bottomed out. The same way it used to when Rob would wink at me, and I can’t do that again.
“Did they fix the heater in your room?”
I think the only thing accomplished by him flashing his smile at the woman at the front desk while inquiring about the heater in my room this morning was her sliding her number to him across the countertop. Any comprehension of what he was talking to her about was gone the minute she caught sight of him.
I’d been waiting until we were out of earshot to crack a joke about it. But as soon as we walked away, he casually dropped the piece of paper with her number on it into a garbage can in the lobby.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been back to my room.”
When I chance a look up at him, his eyes dart away, and he nods his head.
“How’s your shoulder?” I ask, realizing I haven’t checked yet.
“Not worse.”
“Good.” I lick my lips and rub them together. “That’s good.”
“Listen. About what Emmett said. . .” He trails off and I hold up a hand.
“You don’t need to explain a thing.”
“I feel like I do. I’m not really like that anymore.” He sounds almost desperate.
“Truly, it’s fine.” Just talking about him with other women makes a gnawing sensation take root at the base of my throat. I shimmy my shoulders then, standing up taller, refusing to curl in on myself.