Hungrier.
Every reckless word my friends teased me with tonight echoes in my mind:Kiss the hot cowboy.My eyes drop to his mouth. With just one tilt forward or one yank of his neck down to me, we’d be kissing. And by the way his gaze fills with passion, I know he’s thinking the same thing.
His head dips closer, close enough that my breath catches. He pauses, caught in some inner battle of good and evil. Then, he gives the slightest shake, as though chastising himself for even considering it.
He pushes off me, crawling backward, raking a hand through his hair as he sits back away from me.
His voice comes out low and angry. “Go to bed.”
The words sting—not because they’re cruel, but because I feel the same war raging inside me.
That wanting.
That frustration.
That intense longing neither of us knows what to do with.
Month Three
Hess
The skillet hissesas I flip another pancake, golden brown and perfect. Rosa Jiménez claps her hands, impressed with my skills.
No one was more shocked than me when Camila’s mom showed up at my house this morning. And since Camila is still asleep, there’s nothing to do but entertain my mother-in-law until her daughter wakes up.
I don’t know what I expected from Camila’s mom, but it wasn’t this.
Rosa looks like she could be her older sister. She’s young, still in her forties. Long black hair. Wide smile. Judging by Camila and Selena, I shouldn’t be surprised by how pretty Rosa is. Their genes had to come from somewhere. But it still made me pause.
“Look at this! A man who can cook,” Rosa says, wagging her finger. “Camila never brings home men who can cook. Actually,Camila never brings home men. Period. That’s why I had to come to you and see what’s going on here for myself.”
I reach for the spatula. “Just a whole lotta marriage happening over here.”
“What I’ve always wanted for my daughter.” She laughs, delighted, and bumps my shoulder like we’ve been friends for years. We’ve only known each other for half an hour, but I’ve already made it to the favorite-son-in-law status. A very prestigious honor I’ll fight Landon for.
We’re mid-story about the disaster that was my first attempt at riding bareback when movement catches my eye.
Camila shuffles into the kitchen, hair messy in a bun, bare legs catching the sunlight under the shortest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen. Her off-the-shoulder pajama shirt slides down one arm, loose and soft-looking—no bra strap to be found—and my mouth goes dry before I can stop it.
I’m done for.
I can’t live under these conditions.
Not if I don’t want to completely lose my heart to this woman.
I’m blaming the fiasco in my room last night for this reaction.
“Mamá?” Camila blinks at us like she’s walked into the wrong house. “What are you doing here?”
“¡Buenos días, sleepyhead!” Rosa sings, bustling over to get more water for the batter. “You’re so tired because you work too hard.”
Camila’s eyes dart between us, suspicious. “Butwhyare you here?”
“You kept me in the dark about your marriage for five and a half years,” Rosa says, whipping the pancake mix like a pro. “What did you expect me to do? I had to come and make sure your husband treated you right.”
Discreetly, I dart my eyes to her daughter, hoping to catch her expression, but I instantly regret it. The mixture of her raised brows and her tiny body and her bare, smooth shoulder—yes, I’m still stuck on that—sends a heavy dose of attraction swirling in my stomach.
IN THE PRESENCE OF HER MOTHER.
