Page 2 of Curvy Girl and the Bad Boy Cowboy

"Sure you do, buddy." Max grins. "But one day, some woman's gonna walk into your life and mess up all those plans of yours. And I'm gonna laugh my ass off when it happens."

"Never," I declare, spreading my arms wide to the empty street. "Ethan Covington is a free spirit. I don't need anyone telling me when to come home or how to live my life."

Max chuckles. "We'll be young forever, right? Nothing else matters."

"Damn straight," I nod, raising an imaginary glass to the universe. "Youth and freedom—the only things worth having."

Max laughs and punches my arm. "Damn, you're poetic when you're drunk."

"I'm just saying," I smirk, "for someone giving me so much crap about ending up tied down, you're talking an awful lot about feelings tonight. Better be careful, or you'll end up in love next."

"Me?" Max snorts. "You're out of your damn mind."

"I've seen it happen to better men than you."

"No way." He shakes his head firmly. "My whole life is the fire department. You know that. Chief Miller was the only one who helped me after everything with my dad. Took a scrawny troublemaker and made something out of me. I'm not trading that for any girl."

"Who says you have to trade anything?" I counter, surprising myself with this sudden defense of relationships. "If you find the right girl, you can do both."

"Look at you defending romance now." Max squints at me suspiciously. "Who are you, and what have you done with Ethan Covington?"

"Just playing devil's advocate," I shrug. "Someone's gotta keep you honest."

Max checks his watch and lets out a low whistle. "It's almost two. I should head home."

"Lightweight."

"Some of us actually care about not feeling like death tomorrow." He gives me a quick, backslapping hug. "Get home safe, idiot."

"Always do."

We part ways at the intersection of Pine and Main, Max heading toward his apartment above the hardware store while I continue straight toward the outskirts of town where the Covington ranch sprawls across five hundred acres of the finest land.

The walk home is about twenty-five minutes, thirty if I'm dragging like tonight. Most people would call a cab or arrange a ride, but I've always loved this solitary journey. The road stretches empty before me, bordered by tall pines on one side and open fields on the other: no cars, no people, just me and the night.

The stars punch through the darkness overhead, impossibly bright away from town lights. The Milky Way streaks across the sky like spilled paint. If I were any good at writing, I'd capture this feeling—the perfect combination of beer buzz, cool night air, and absolute freedom.

Instead, I just drink it in, knowing these are the moments I'll miss if I ever let myself get tied down.

By the time the ranch house comes into view, my buzz has faded to a pleasant warmth. I'm surprised to see a light still on in the living room. Usually, the house is dark by midnight—one of many changes since everyone started pairing off.

I climb the porch steps as quietly as possible, wincing at every creak of the old wood. When I push open the front door, I'm hit with the unexpected tableau of my oldest brother, Jackson, sitting on the couch with—

"Naomi?"

She turns, her short dark hair swinging across her cheekbones. Even in the low lamplight, I can see the familiar curves that I've had my hands all over more than a few times this year already.

"Ethan," she says, and there's something in her voice I can't place.

I look between her and Jackson, confusion mounting.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you here at—" I check my watch, "—two-thirty in the morning?"

Jackson stands up, and I immediately notice the absence of his usual smirk or easy smile. His face is set in hard lines, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Jackson?" I prompt, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.

Naomi rises too, smoothing down her skirt. She's still in her work clothes, the light blue polo with "Sweet Somethings Bakery" embroidered on the breast.

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