Page 4 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
“You used the term wrong,” my sister whispers.
I glare at her, silently telling her to shut up.
This cowboy may not be shirtless, but his vast muscles practically tear the material of his T-shirt. And the way his hat tilts just right highlights his chiseled features.
Our eyes meet, even if I don’t want them to. Even if my hand automatically tries to find the button to close the doors in his face.
He wears a crooked smile. The tiniest, sexiest, crooked smile. And he has this twinkle in his eye that stirs my insides and tells me his pressure would really hit my spot.
“Mornin’ ladies.” The low, rich timbre of his voice rumbles an undeniable power. I told you, those cowboys are born with it.
“Mornin’.” I expect my sister to get her full-on flirt going, but her voice remains chill.
“Going up?” His eyes are locked on mine, playful, fun, flirty—all the things I avoid.
My sister steps back and tips her pink Stetson. “Yes, sir.”
I can hear the inappropriate thoughts bouncing around in her head—cause they’re sure bouncing around in my head.
Why couldn’t she just say no?
The thud of his boots echoes. And the way the worn denim hugs his thighs leaves little to the imagination. The elevator shrinks with his arrival, and his arm brushes mine as he shifts in the tight space.
I’m not gonna lie; electricity zaps every spot his bare, rugged arm touches. I blame my reaction on lacking a man’s touch for many years. And the way he half-smirks down at me tells me the brush was quite intentional. And if it was intentional with me, I’m sure it’s intentional with every woman he accidentally bumps into.
He eyes the floor panel. “I guess we’re all headin’ to the same floor.”
“Are you here for the cowboy calendar event?” My sister winks at me behind the cowboy.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
Her face scrunches into a look of disgust. “You can call my aunts ma’am, but I ain’t no ma’am.”
I crack a smile. She’s not wrong. She’s the furthest from a ma’am.
“Sunshine, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart.” She continues to list alternative names. “Keep these in mind while you’re flirting.”
“I haven’t flirted”—his eyes take a heated glow that’s hard to ignore—” yet.”
My insides heat into soup.
“You got another candy cane?”
I’d forgotten the partially licked stick in my hand. “No. Just this one.”
“I don’t mind sharing.” He reaches for the candy cane. Our fingers brush briefly. With that playful gleam in his eyes, he gives it a teasing lick. His expression is pure enjoyment as he cherishes the flavor.
“What’s your gig, Flora Rowe from Rocky Ridge Creek High School? Class of school midnight skinny dip pool party at the principal’s ranch.”
“You two know each other?” my sister asks.
Understatement.
Thorn Slater.
Brother of one.
Class of midnight skinny dip pool party at the principal’s ranch. Also, the cowboy who took my virginity that very same night.
