Mason.
He’s leaned up against the rail like he’s modeling for a “Hot Firefighters of the Rodeo Circuit” calendar. Laid-back grin, arms crossed, and that easy charm he doesn’t even try to wield but somehow still floors people with.
She says something that makes him laugh—really laugh—and I feel that twist in my chest.
It’s stupid. He’s Mason. My best friend, my neighbour. Practically my brother. Hell, he’s saved my ass more times than I can count. There’s no reason to go all caveman over a couple of pictures and a harmless laugh.
Except then she pulls out her phone.
And I see him give her his number.
My stomach tightens like I just got cinched into a too-tight bronc rigging. It’s fast, innocent, probably about the article—but that doesn't stop the flicker of heat crawling up my neck. That doesn’tstop the little voice in the back of my mind whispering:You waited too long. She’s not yours.
I force myself to take a deep breath and stroll over like I haven’t just watched my girl—no,notmy girl—type another man’s number into her phone.
“Everything good over here?” I ask, casual as hell. Maybe too casual.
Mia flashes me a grin, cheeks a little flushed. “Just getting some behind-the-scenes gold. Mason’s a pro.”
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter, giving Mason a look that says I saw the whole damn thing. He doesn’t flinch. Just lifts a brow and shrugs like,What?
“You’re looking limber,” he says, nodding toward the competitor tents. “Shoulder holding up?”
“Feels good,” I say. “Focused.”
He gives a short nod, then claps my shoulder. “Kick ass out there, man.”
“Always.”
He saunters off like nothing happened, and I should let it go.
But when I glance at Mia again—her mouth still curved, her eyes still dancing—I wonder how much of that glow is from me…and how much of it might be from someone else.
She turns to face me. “Something on your mind cowboy?” Mia’s voice is pure honey with a bite of tequila. She stops in front of me, cocking a hip, eyes narrowed just enough to let me know she’s already read me like a book.
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Nah. Just thinking through the ride.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her lips twitch. “Because your ‘I’m focused’ face usually doesn’t include that little muscle twitch riiight there.” She taps my jaw where it’s clenched tight. “And that green-eyed gremlin look doesn’t suit you, cowboy.”
I huff out a short laugh, caught. “Didn’t know I was so obvious.”
“Please.” She lifts her brows. “You were practically vibrating with territorial energy. If you’d growled, I might’ve had to throw a saddle on you.”
“You givin’ me ideas?” I shoot back, stepping a little closer.
“Grant,” she says, tone softening as her hand lands flat on my chest. “It was just his number for the article. Mason’s your best friend, not some cowboy in a dark alley.”
I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t quite lift.
“Have you always been a possessive caveman?” she asks with a quirked brow, that teasing glint lighting up her face.
“Possessive over a woman? Never,” I say, voice dropping low as I step closer, slow and smug. “Not until I met you, darlin’. Plus…” I gesture subtly to the rodeo grounds behind us, where at least three cowboys are already sneaking glances in her direction, their boots barely dry from their last ride.
“You’ve seen these cowboys. Too much starch in their jeans, not enough sense in their heads. I’ve gotta keep you safe from cowboy charm and unsolicited two-step invitations. It’s a full-time job.”
She smirks. “Protecting me from them? Or them from me?”
I grin. “Both. But especially from Mason.”
