27
Summer
Summer: You going to come to the rodeo with me this weekend?
Dad:Wouldn’t miss it. Beers are on me. Maybe some of those cinnamon mini donuts too.
Summer: Sounds healthy.
Dad: If this were my last moment on earth, I’d want to go with a beer in one hand and a mini donut in the other.
Summer: I hate you.
Dad: I love you too.
* * *
We step into the trendy downtown restaurant—all whites and silvers and modern lines—and Rhett looks out of place here. Frankly, I feel out of place here, like something inside of me has changed in the last couple months.
Before my time in Chestnut Springs, this was the type of place I would have loved to come for dinner. But spending long days in the prairies, seeing the mountains, being surrounded by people who value different things, well, I’m thinking they’ve rubbed off on me. That maybe my priorities have changed.
Rhett’s hand bumps against mine as he peers around the restaurant. He’s reached back for me without even looking, possibly without even thinking about it.
The girl who likes places like these pops up in my head, telling me I shouldn’t hold his hand in public. That it’s not appropriate. That I’ll get one of us in trouble.
But the new girl—the windswept, sun-kissed girl with beautiful custom chaps who makes love in the back of a rusty old pickup in the middle of a field—doesn’t give a fuck.
She tells me to slip my soft hand into Rhett’s rough one and give it a squeeze.
When his cheek twitches, I know I listened to the right girl.
That smile is my kryptonite. And those hands. And that mouth, including the toe-curling things that come out of it. The dick, too. Big fan of Rhett Eaton’s dick.
Actually, it would seem I’m just a big fan of Rhett Eaton, and not the cocky cowboy everyone else gets to see. The man who kisses me sweetly, who makes me feel taken care of, like I’m not a burden—the one who’s just a little bit vulnerable and insecure.
The man that no one else really sees. I’m not sure why he’s opted to show me that side of himself, but I know I need to handle it with care. I know Rhett is far more sensitive than he lets on. His wounds run deep, and he’s patched them with a public persona and a cocky grin that doesn’t match the soulful man I’ve come to know.
“There he is.” His opposite hand raises up in a salute, and he holds my hand tight as he strides across the room toward the table where Jasper is already seated.
Hilariously, Jasper doesn’t look like he belongs here either. His scruffy beard covers most of his face, and his shaggy dark blond hair peeks out from under the team cap he’s wearing.
“Hey, guys.” Jasper’s eyes drop to our intertwined hands and his lips press together. “Rhett, don’t think I’ve ever seen you hold a girl’s hand before,” he continues as we pull out our chairs across from him.
I flush and pull my hand away, but the minute we’re seated in the clear Lucite chairs, Rhett reaches across the space between us and grabs it again, thumb rubbing in reassuring strokes.
“Didn’t know growing a playoff beard was a thing when you aren’t even close to making the playoffs,” Rhett deadpans.
Jasper smirks and dips his chin down to read the menu in front of him. “Vicious, little Eaton.” He pops his head up just long enough to add, “Lovely to see you, Summer.”
There’s something different about Jasper. Something quiet and introspective. Something sweet, but also something very removed. I can’t quite put my finger on him. The only thing I know is that I’ve heard my dad talk about goalies being a different type of athlete than your average hockey player.
“You too,” I tell him honestly.
“Thanks for meeting us today,” Rhett says. “I don’t love dinners out before I ride.”
Jasper grunts. “Yeah. I hear that. Playing on a full stomach makes me want to hurl.”
My mouth twists. I’m in for an interesting evening of trying to make conversation with Jasper. At least it will distract me from the gnawing anxiety over Rhett riding again this weekend.