Page 15 of Eight Seconds

I think I need a hobby.

Charlie

…okay…why?

Me

Because if I spend any more of my free time thinking about you, the police might qualify it as stalker behavior.

Charlie

Is this you flirting?

Me

Flirting implies I’m aiming to impress you. Clearly, I’m asking for an intervention. If I was flirting, I would ask what you were wearing right now.

Charlie

That’s not flirting either. I’m not impressed.

But I am laughing, so I guess that’s something.

I’m in my pajamas, tucked into my bed, deciding whether I want to watch Netflix or go to sleep.

We’ve texted every day since saying goodbye in South Dakota, but I swipe along my phone screen until the trilling of a FaceTime call starts. The initial ring doesn’t even finish before she connects us.

“Netflix or sleep are not your only two options,” I start, smiling when I see her tucked under a dove-gray comforter, surrounded by fluffy pillows. She’s in Missouri, too many states away for my liking, but that’s just how it is. I lift one arm and bring it behind my head, getting comfortable. “You can talk to me.”

“I feel like if I don’t, you’re going to keep texting me, so I might as well get it out of the way,” Charlotte sasses, but there’s no bite behind her words. In fact, the hint of a blush appears high on her cheeks. She holds her phone carefully as she rearranges herself on her side, then props it against something, and tucks both hands under her chin. “How did your ride go?”

“All right,” I offer. The truth is, it wasn’t spectacular. I came in third with a mid-range score. I could blame it on the horse, but sometimes it just isn’t your night. “Nothing to write home about. Yours?”

Charlotte’s face lights up with pride for a moment before she tries to keep it in check. But she doesn’t need to do that with me.

“You won.” I don’t make it a question, and she gives a nod of confirmation. “Hell yeah!”

“And can you believe it? This rodeo gave me a steak dinner with my winnings.”

“I’ve never been given dinner with my purse,” I grouse good-naturedly, slouching further on the bed. “Was it any good?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I don’t eat steak.” Charlotte looks away at her confession, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

“Are you telling me you’re an honest-to-God cowgirl, born and raised in Montana on a ranch, who doesn't eat red meat?”

“Cattle are a very small part of my family’s business,” she says. “But it’s mostly a texture thing, not a humanitarian thing. I don’t like the taste.” She pauses, then points a finger at the screen. “And I like burgers just fine, so don’t rule out all red meat.”

“All right, noted.” I like the warmth in Charlotte’s gaze, and with her good mood bolstering me, I can’t waste the opportunity to get to know her a little deeper. “So, if cattle aren’t the main function of the ranch, what is?”

Charlotte sighs, the light in her eyes going out a little as she begins to tell me about growing up and the expectations her parents had for her. So much of her drive—her entire personality, really—comes into focus. The idea that she had it easier than I did is muddled with every new revelation. She might have had the security I lacked, even the love I craved, but that hasn’t made her life less complicated than mine.

We talk until my eyes get heavy and Charlotte’s pauses between sentences begin to get longer and longer. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I wake up with a sore neck and a phone with a dead battery.

* * *

“This is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my life. And Iride bullsfor a living!”

I stabilize my phone on the steps to my trailer before moving back to stand next to Travis—who’s currently looking like he is regretting agreeing to this. Charlotte cackles from the screen as she clears the small living room in her rig of any obstacles. We’re stuck outside in the mid-June Arizona heat on an expanse of AstroTurf under my trailer’s awning for today’s attempt at yoga for beginners. An idea born out of Charlotte’s Google search for better riding techniques and my desire to see her in skin-tight workout clothes. I’m a simple man, after all.

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