Page 79 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Just needed to come take a closer look? Upon your closer inspection, I’m dying to know what you think.” He’s so unbothered, and my eye twitches.

“Unimpressive really.”

“Really?” He doesn’t sound like he believes me, and I can’t blame him. I don’t believe me, either.

But I refuse to admit such a stupid weakness to the enemy. “I bet Mateo looks—” His back stiffens, and he growls, the sound ricocheting through the dusty barn. The horse’s ears flick at the sound, searching for the threat, not realizing that the hand that feeds them is the scariest monster they may encounter.

But I know as much.

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Stetson,” I shiver at the way my name sounds mixed with his raspy growl. It’s delicious in the most sinful kind of way. I want to beg him to say it again, over and over.

“But what if—” He turns on me, his eyes searing into my skin.

“No.”

Rolling my eyes, I cock my hip to one side and blow a slow raspberry with my lips. Why?

Because I can’t seem to control my need to poke the beast.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll just call Dale later.” He doesn’t even twitch, his chest still like he’s holding his breath. “Relax, dude. I came here to see if you wanted to go to the local rodeo with me tonight.” There, I said it. No one can ever tell me I’m not a kind, charitable, mature person again.

His eyes widen a fraction, as if I’ve truly caught him by surprise, and that makes me smile—a full-face grin that only makes his eyes widen further. I like catching him off guard; it’s so rare that I do, like he watches every move I make and knows me better than I know myself. It’s annoying.

“Us, go to the rodeo together? I haven’t been to a rodeo in a few years,” he states, looking quizzically. “And I’ve never been to this rodeo.”

I roll my eyes again. “Oh, don’t lie to me now.” And his eyes narrow, confusion creasing between his eyebrows. He steps toward me, but I don’t wait to see where the hell that is going. I have to keep the upper hand, even if it’s only for a little while longer. “Be ready by six. You’re driving. I plan to get drunk.”

God, why does he always have to look good? Why must the world be against me and try my self-control at every turn when it comes to this man?

One hand on the wheel, the other resting along the headrest of the cab seat, he looks relaxed. But I know better. I know a beast prowls beneath the miles of muscular tanned skin, waiting to devour me. I shift for the hundredth time and he sighs loudly through his nose.

“You asked me out on this date, remember? Get comfortable.”He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and I’m grateful. Ever since he mentioned this resembled a date, especially with my hair done up and my choice of clothes—my nicest jeans, a black tank top that clings to my annoyingly hard nipples, and long earrings tickling the sides of my neck—I’ve had a permanent blush staining my neck and face. I tried arguing with him, but I was rather unconvincing—to him and to myself.

“This isn’t a date,” I whisper, again.

“Even if I want it to be?” He sounds so nonchalant, so certain of himself. And it’s nearly impossible to disagree with. Nearly. Instead of agreeing, or saying anything for that matter, I turn wide eyes to stare out the window. I’m staring so long and hard, my vision blurring, that I don’t realize we’ve parked. I’m snapped from my trance when I feel a warm thumb brush softly against the column of my neck, electricity sparkling across my skin, making me gasp.

The act is so familiar, like we’ve been here, and done this, a hundred times before.

I don’t look at him, I can’t, as I open the door and climb out. I will fucking jump him, right here in the parking lot, in the front seat of his truck, for everyone to see if I do. And the sick thing is, he would like it.

“Where ya headed?” he questions, far too close to my back for comfort.

I point directly ahead where a large tent sits, corralled together with makeshift panels and swaying string lights.

“Beer. Now.” He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he slides a muscled arm over my shoulders, brushing my hair out of the way, his fingers lazily falling over my breast. I suck in a sharp breath.

But I don’t pull away.

Not when we get to the beer tent, not when Dale spots us—her eyes glittering and full of mischief—not when the rodeostarts and we both place our hands over each other’s hearts with a giggle as the National anthem plays. Because this does feel like a date, and as much as I know I should run from it, I. Don’t. Want. To.

“I love Broncs. They aren’t much different from the horses I used to work with in Colorado.” I’m babbling, but I have to fill the space between us before I say something really stupid. He shifts, looking down at me.

“Yeah, I suppose not. Sometimes, wild horses become the best broncs. There are some wild spirits that just can’t be broken.” I roll my eyes at his words.

“I never broke them. I like to think of it like giving them a purpose, a second chance, a way to funnel what they’ve been through into something positive.”

He stares at me, his face surprisingly knowing and kind, even impressed. “You should just sell the cows and start your own horse rescue.” I choke on the beer pressed against my lips and raise a brow. “What? I know you hate the cows, only doing it to prove to yourself you can because you’re irrationally stubborn. But that’s not where your passion is. And life is too short to not pursue your passions.” He leans in a little. “Take what you’ve been through and turn that into something positive.”

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