Page 58 of Second Rodeo

Well, baby, so am I.

I don’t know why she’s jealous of a woman I barely remember, and couldn’t care less about. I can’t picture her being jealous of anyone I’ve ever talked to, because every one of them would’ve seen the same thing: the way I look at my wife. The way I was desperate to be alone with Regan all night, just to lose myself in her. The way I couldn’t stop staring at her, every inch of her, while my head filled with dirty thoughts I shouldn’t say out loud.

By the time I step out my truck, the first clap of thunder rumbles in the distance, rolling through the sky like a warning. Or maybe it’s a challenge. A challenge to everything I thought I knew Iwant for life when I moved here, and all that I’ve held close to my heart.

Pride.

Fear.

Anger.

Ego.

The things that held me back from thinking I could ever be a good husband. The things that are still telling me that somehow, I’m going to fuck this up and hurt her.

Regan’s already at the front steps of the porch, arms crossed, eyes glaring sharply at me.

“That was a little dramatic, don’t you think? Dragging me home when the party was still going?”

I move toward her, slow and steady, the feel of damp grass grounding me as I take her in. She looks damn good out here, like shebelongsin the storm, in the thick of things. Even better when she’s trying to act like she isn’t jealous.

Maybe years ago, I would’ve hated this. Would’ve found it exhausting that some woman was getting worked up over ghosts from my past, acting like they had any claim on me especially when I’d never claim them. But I’m older now. Wiser, maybe. Gotten a little sense knocked into me along the way. Maybe from a bull, maybe from my sister.

And Regan?

She isn’t just a pretty face to fuck and I’m just as jealous of every man who’s ever gotten to look at her.

Ilikeher.

I like her family. I like this house we live in together and what we’re doing to rebuild it. And fuck if I kind of likethe way she’sglaring at me over a woman whose name I don’t even remember. Because the truth is that the only woman I remember from my circuit days is her. The only name that’s ever called out to me when I replay those wild, careless nights back ishers.

I step onto the porch, stopping two steps below her so that we’re almost eye to eye. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin mingled with the scent of rain thick in the air.

“I was ready to take my bride to be home. It was a little... crowded, there. Didn’t like the company.”

She draws in a breath like she’s bracing for something, then tips her face toward the sky.

“You’re jealous because I waved at Declan?” Her voice is quieter now. “But why? This was a marriage of convenience. Declan and I had a long relationship before I got into this fake one.”

That wordconveniencesticks in my throat like a splinter.

My hands find her waist, fingers spreading over her curves. I smooth down the fabric of her dress, letting my palms memorize the shape of her. The feel of her. There’s a lot I could say right now. A lot that’s stuck in my chest, pressing against my ribs.

Like—

I don’t know why I’m jealous.

I’ve never felt this feeling before.

You blew into my life seven years ago and wrecked me, and I thought I’d never see you again which was the distance that I needed to move forward.

But now that I have, and now that we’re married, and now that I’ve had you in my bed, it all feels—Right. Like nothingjust happens by chance and the universe has pushed us back together for a reason that I intend on understanding.

She bites down on her bottom lip, her gaze searching mine. Like sheknows. Like she sees every messy, broken piece of me and understands why I’m struggling to find the words.

I’m jealous of her looking at another man.

I’m jealous of the men she’s dated before.

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