Page 19 of Hawt Cowboy
I blink and force myself to focus. The sponsor rep, Toby from Wilder’s Western Wear. He claps me on the back. “Glad you stopped by the store. She’s lookin’ perfect for the brand. That outfit’s gonna sell a lotta boots. I would love to get some photos if she’ll agree. Oh, and you too, of course.”
I glance toward her again, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, figured she should look the part.”
Toby grins. “You two sure do make a fine couple.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, but there’s a hesitation in my voice I can’t quite hide.
Savannah catches me looking and gives me that don’t you dare stare at me expression. I grin and keep my eyes on her anyway.
The event rolls on with photos, short interviews, and lots of handshakes. But my focus keeps drifting back to her. She’s sharp with reporters, polite with sponsors, patient with fans. Every time someone compliments her outfit, I feel happy for her. Actually, I feel proud too … because she’s mine, even if it’s all pretend.
A photographer waves us over. “Let’s get one of you two together! You’re the talk of the circuit.”
Savannah stiffens, but the sponsor’s watching, so I slide an arm around her waist again. She fits perfectly, and when she exhales, I feel the rise and fall against my side.
“Closer,” the photographer says. “Look like you mean it.”
I lower my voice so only she can hear. “You heard the man.”
She glares up at me but doesn’t move away. The flash pops, and for one dizzy heartbeat, I forget this is fake. Her perfume’s soft and warm, and the sunlight catches a tiny glint of turquoise on her wrist.
“Perfect!” the photographer says. “You two have real chemistry.”
Savannah steps away fast, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, watching her walk off to check her tablet again like she’s desperate for something to do.
Later, after the crowd thins, I find her by the vehicle. She’s scrolling through photos on her tablet -- our photos.
“They’ll love it,” I say, leaning against the fender.
“They’ll spin it,” she mutters. “That’s what they do.”
“Looks pretty genuine to me.”
She looks up then, and her expression softens just a fraction. “You were good today.”
“Good?”
“Professional,” she says. “Cooperative. Manageable.”
I grin. “Three words I never thought I’d hear you use in the same sentence about me.”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You are.”
The mood between us changes. She notices it, too. Before either of us can speak, a familiar voice cuts through the air.
“Well, if it ain’t the happy couple again.”
Darren Campbell. Leaning against a truck, arms crossed, smirk locked in place.
Savannah straightens, tension rippling through her shoulders. I push off the vehicle, already feeling that pulse of irritation crawl up my spine.
Darren tips his hat toward her. “Miss Brooks. You look like a vision.”
I step forward, close enough he can see the warning in my eyes. “Didn’t take you long to slither back, did it, Campbell?”
