Page 63 of Rough Ride with the Grumpy Cowboy
“You look like someone I know,” she giggles, cupping my face.
My mood shifts with her presence, a smile gracing my lips when I smell the wine on her breath and see a dazed look in her eyes. “And you look drunk.”
“Not drunk—tipsy,” she corrects, smacking her lips loudly against mine.
Jace clears his throat, forcing Ava to pull away and turn to him. “Oh, hi, Jace.”
“Ava,” he answers a bit too curtly.
“He’s grumpy,” she laments.
“He is,” I affirm.
“We are not done talking about this,” he grits out before wheeling himself away from us.
In my book, we are done talking about it, so I focus my attention on Ava, who is enchanted by the tattoo on my neck.
“Time for bed, Miss Diva,” I announce as I pick her up in my arms, making her fall into a fit of giggles.
“You’re happy,” I comment as if it’s not already obvious.
“I am. Today was the best birthday ever,” she claps happily, then breaks out into the birthday chorus, forcing me to join in.
I love a happy Ava—she’s even more beautiful when she’s all smiles.
I made sure that Ava didn’t find out about her family’s unwelcome visit. I didn’t want their presence to ruin her mood, and seeing how happy she is now, I succeeded.
In my cabin, we stop by the kitchen and I make her drink a whole glass of water before proceeding to the bedroom. I set her down on the bed so I can find her clothes to change into.
“I have something to tell you,” she hiccups, lying on the bed, facing me.
“I know.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “You do?”
“Yes, it’s kind of obvious.”
“It is?”
“Yes. I mean, people tell me all the time that I’m the most gorgeous man alive, so it was about time you noticed too,” I tease.
She glares at me and face-palms a bit too dramatically. “Zane! That’s not what I was talking about.”
“No?”
“No!”
“What is it then?”
“I like you—more than like you. I think I’m in love with you. As a matter of fact, I never stopped loving you,” she confesses, her tone sobering up a bit.
My movements still as her words sink in. I abandon the clothes as I walk toward her, kneeling at her feet. She sits up and faces me, a love-struck look on her face.
“You beat me to it, and even though you might not remember most of this tomorrow, I love you too. I never stopped.”
She grins widely, leans in to cup my face, and kisses me soundly. It’s a sloppy, wet kiss—to be expected of her slightly drunk self—but special all the same.
“You love me?” she whispers when we pull apart.
