“Don’t be so rude,” I huff. “And I’m sort of on your family's farm.” A swallow. “In a ditch.”
Another door closes, and I think it might be his truck, but then he’s pausing—silent and tense, before he rumbles out a slow, deep, “You’rewhere?”
“Look, I know it’s weird, and probably blowing your fucking mind right now, but I’m at Honey Bea because I ran intoyour mom last weekend, and she said she needed my help on a project. You’ve met her, she’s incredibly convincing. I was supposed to find her at some supply shed, but I couldn’t find it, and then there was this goose. The ditch came out of nowhere, and now I’m stuck.”
“Stuck…” He draws the word out. “In a ditch on my farm.”
“Yes!” I cry, hand flailing. “Stuck in a ditch. And I really have to pee! So can you please come get me, or find someone who will, because I might be in the country, Kade, but I’m not a guy. I can’t exactly whip it out the window!”
He’s silent for a beat, then, “Think I’d like to see you try, though.”
“Oh my God!”
Kade chuckles, and an engine kicks on. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
He hangs up before I can remind him I’m literally stuck, and I drop my phone onto my lap, exhaling a shaky breath. I sink deeper into my seat and cross my bouncing legs. I wish he would have told me how far away he was. If he’s home in Wildwood, I could be waiting for at least half an hour, and I’m not sure I’ll last that long.
I turn up the music to distract myself from thinking about the discomfort, and sing along to one of my favorite songs, but it doesn’t hit like it usually does.
Kelly would be so disappointed in me. I’m the furthest thing from “Miss Independent” right now.
I’m Sad, Trapped Barbie waiting for Cowboy Ken to rescue me.
For some reason, the idea of seeing Kade sends a wave of butterflies through my system, and my brain supplies a random image of him showing up shirtless like he was the day I met him.
Only in my fantasy, this time, he’d be in those tight jeans with the worn knees that hug his ass and thick thighs perfectly, a handyman belt strapped around his abs. Imaginary me is tornbetween him wearing his cowboy hat and the baseball cap he seems to love so much.
Both are hot as hell, especially when he turns the cap backward and calls medarlin’in that stupid, perfect, deep voice of his—that dramatic Southern drawl that never fails to make me wet and needy.
“Nope,” I murmur, forcing the image from my mind. “No. No. No. I cannot fantasize about him.”
I check my reflection in the mirror, and give myself the same pep talk I’ve been repeating since the day I met Kade Archer.
“You do not find him attractive. He’s cocky, arrogant, and rude. His personality is equivalent to that of a rabid hyena. He’s ugly and old. His face is annoying. Cowboy boots are not sexy. Hats are the Devil’s wardrobe. He smells. And Ihatehis beard—”
“Arrogant, ugly, and old are one thing, but my beard?”
I scream and my eyes fly to the window—theopenwindow, and the sadly, very fully clothed man outside of it. How the hell did he get here so fast?
“Now I know you’re making shit up, freckles. Most people say my beard is my best asset.”
Kade runs his fingers through his neatly trimmed, silver-flecked beard and shoots me a cocky, half smirk that sends butterflies through my veins. That smirk is quickly becoming my obsession—along with the man wearing it.
“Of course, some would argue it’s myrabidhyenapersonality.” He leans down and stares directly into my eyes as he murmurs, “Told you I could make you scream.”
Annnd obsession tamed.
I stare at him for a long moment, brain fritzing, spiraling, and rewiring repeatedly.
“You didn’t hear any of that,” I state, chin high.
He cocks a brow. “You do know saying something doesn’t make it true.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder. “What’ll it cost?”
“Cost?”
“For you to pretend you didn’t hear anything.”
