Her whole body stiffens.
Good.
She should be tense. She should be fucking terrified of what happens if I stop pretending I have a shred of restraint left.
I drag her designer sneaker off, slowly, my knuckles graze up the inside of her ankle, just to watch her squirm. The second she’s free, I shove the heavy boot onto her foot, tugging it up snug around her calf. My thumb brushes over the sensitive skin just above the leather, not by accident.
Her whole body jerks the tiniest bit, barely enough for anyone to notice.
I lift my head, letting my gaze lock onto hers, and hold it. She’s staring down at me like she doesn’t know whether she wants to slap me or strangle me.
“What’s wrong, princess?” I rasp. “Something bothering you?”
She blinks fast, trying to get her footing. “Your hands are fucking filthy,” she snaps, but her shaky voice betrays her.
I can’t help the slow, cruel smirk pulling at my lips. I lean in and tighten my grip on her calf just enough to make her feel it.
“Careful, darlin’,” I say with a slow drawl, tilting my head. “That attitude of yours is real cute—until I decide to do somethin’ about it.”
“You fucking wish,” she scoffs, “you can forget that pleasant conversation we had in the car, byeeee.” She shoves at my chest hard enough to make me laugh as I let her go.
I push off my knees to stand, chuckling to myself as I watch her storm off.
“Pick your damn boots,” I call out, jerking my chin toward the wall. “And while we’re here, pick out some new clothes too. Welcome to the wild side, darlin’.”
She glares up at me, her chest heaving, color high on her cheeks. I know I’m under her skin, and hell if I don’t love it.
I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they’re itching to haul her over my shoulder and show her exactly what a real cowboy can do.
catalina
. . .
A week later
Slamming the bathroom door behind me, I press my back to it like that’ll stop my heart from racing straight out of my skin. My hands grip the counter as I stare at my reflection, trying to breathe.
Fuck.
A pinkish hue colors my cheeks, warm with heat that won’t settle. My hair’s curled just right, soft waves brushing past my shoulders. The black top I threw on hugs my body tighter than I remember, dipping low enough to give Carter a goddamn aneurysm if he catches even half a glance. I opted to wear black, high-waisted jeans, since that’s the plainest piece of clothing I own. And to top it off, Carter ended up choosing stupid black cowgirl boots, but I bedazzled them so he can kiss my ass.
I look like a walking ad for Carhartt.
Truthfully? I look fucking heinous, except for my shiny boots.
Nothing I’m wearing has a label on it, and it doesn’t scream designer. It’s all from Tractor Supply that Cartertook me to a week ago, mumbled something about being in ranch country now, and surprisingly paid for everything.
I swipe a little gloss over my lips, more out of habit than hope, and catch the slight tremble in my hands.
Get it together, Catalina. Breathe.
Ugh, today is my first shift at the bar. It isn’t just some shift I’ll never remember; this is the first night I’m doing something that’s mine.
No more daddy’s money, no strings pulled.
Just me.
I take a steady breath, squaring my shoulders, and grab my bag to head out. My boots hit the stairs in quiet, measured steps, and with each one, something tightens in my chest.
