Page 45 of Wrangled Love

I’m in the general store on the ranch, restocking shelves. Ethel runs it most days since she only cleans a couple of cabins each day—majority of guests stay long enough that daily housekeeping isn’t needed.

I’m halfway through stocking travel-size shampoo bottles when my phone buzzes. I’ve been at it for hours, so I take it as a sign to give myself a break.

Backroads & Bad Decisions Group Chat

Charlie: You’ll never guess who came into the shop this morning.

Birdie: Mr. Grady!?

Wren: Heath.

Briar: The new barista who flirts with you at Lasso & Latte with the rattail mullet and another woman’sname on his neck?

Charlie: Nope, thank god no, and eww, seriously???

Charlie: The new hotshot lawyer came into the shop today. He was asking about you, Briar. He wants to take you out tonight.

Briar: Did you tell him I was interested?

She better not have.

Charlie: You never said you weren’t.

I sigh. Having a feeling I might not like where this is going.

Wren: Not that it would matter. Charlie would set you up either way.

Birdie: No joke. Remember the bartender she pushed me into seeing? Charlie knew he was a walking red flag and still gave him my number.

Charlie: How was I supposed to know he was collecting a Rolodex of women for casual hookups?

Charlie: You were the one who agreed to the date.

Birdie: I didn’t want to be rude! Then he had to go and ask me toridehim halfway through dinner.

Birdie: I thought he meant horseback riding until I texted you. I had to sit through the rest of dinner, mortified, waiting for him to finish his cheesecake so I couldbolt.

Wren: Honey, the next time a man asks you that on a first date, you don’t stay for dessert. Grab your purse and leave.

Briar: Amen to that.

Charlie: So, is the date with the hotshot lawyer a no-go?

Briar: I didn’t say that.

Charlie: It’s okay to admit you’re waiting for Mr. Hot Single Dad.

Briar: I’m not.

I looped the girls in on my kiss with Jensen and swore it was a one-time thing, end of story.

The problem is, my hormones haven’t gotten the memo. The man’s a walking thirst trap, especially when he has on gray sweatpants and the glasses he wears at night, and with him down the hall, I have to refrain from sneaking into his room, demanding he prove all my fantasies right.

It’s a good thing I have my own bathroom, because lately my showerhead’s been putting in overtime. Still, it’s a poor substitute for the real thing—calloused hands, warm skin, and a deep voice growling every filthy thing he plans to do to me.

Jensen wasn’t wrong when he assumed I’d only been with countryboysbefore. They handled me like I was made of glass, fumbling their way around with no idea how to bring me pleasure. I crave to be manhandled, dominated, and pushed to my limits—shown what it means to be taken control of. The one person I’m confident could provide that is strictly off-limits.

Charlie: What should I tell the hotshotlawyer?

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