I toss the phone beside me, scrubbing a hand over my face. Friday will be here before I know it, and I can just say something then. In person.
Or not.
A few minutes pass before my phone chimes with a text. At first, I panic, thinking I accidentally sent a message to him after all. I let out a sigh of relief when I read the name across the screen.
Whit: Hey, man. Heading up to the ranch to drop off some medicine. Wanna come with me, and we can grab lunch after?
A smirk grows on my face. It’s as if the universe is on my side today. I can say whatever I need to say to Sterling in person.
Me: Hell yeah. Right now?
Whit: Yup. I can pick you up in like ten minutes if that’s cool.
I send Whit a thumbs-up emoji before jumping out of bed and pulling on some jeans and a clean t-shirt. The dread I was feeling is quickly replaced with something else entirely. Something not necessarily bad, just…different. I can’t quite place it, but I’m also not going to sit here and psychoanalyze it either. Slipping into some boots, I grab a Smoky Boy Whiskey trucker hat off my dresser, putting it on before shoving my wallet and keys into my pocket.
Will Sterling even be at the ranch?
He lives there, so surely he will be… right?
It’s not like he knows a ton of people here, so where would he be if not at the ranch?
He’ll be there. I know it.
A quick honk out front lets me know Whit is here, so after locking up the house, I jog down the steps toward his truck.Climbing in on the passenger side, Whit’s grinning at me as he shifts into drive, taking off. He’s got his dark-framed glasses on, his hair styled perfectly in place, and he’s wearing one of those cable-knit sweaters over his deep purple scrubs.
“Dude, it’s like seventy-five degrees out. Why are you wearing a sweater?”
He frowns, looking down at his outfit. “It’s cold in the clinic.”
Whit always has this scent to him, like trees. He smells like a forest, and I don’t know if it’s a body wash he uses, or something at the clinic, but a fresh forest-y scent fills the inside of the car.
“So, how’s rodeo going?” he asks, taking a right onto the main road that leads straight to the ranch.
“I’d really rather not talk about it,” I grumble as I stare outside with my head leaned up against my arm that’s propped on the window.
“That bad?”
“Not bad, just… I don’t know. Got a lot of shit on my mind.”
Whit’s silent for a moment. He doesn’t even play music in the car. What kind of psychopath rides in a car with no music or anything playing? Finally, I hear him suck in a breath before saying, “Well, in hopes of getting your mind off your own shit, I’ll tell you my shit.”
Glancing over at his side-eye, I arch a brow. “I’m listening.”
“I’m dating someone.”
This time, it’s both of my brows that shoot up. “Someone who isn’t Conrad?”
He shoots me an appalled look. “Why would my ex-husband be the one I’m dating, Shooter? Be for real.”
Holding up my hands, I reply, “Sorry, shit. Just checking. Is this the first person you’ve dated since you guys broke up?”
Without glancing over at me, he nods. Whit and Conrad got together when Whit was freshly eighteen, which means that, if I know Whit as well as I know I do, this is a pretty big deal.
“Anybody I know?” I ask.
Shaking his head, he replies, “No, I don’t think so. He just moved here a few months ago.”
“How’d you meet?”
