“You little shit.” Rhett’s left hand shoots out and playfully punches at Theo’s vest. They laugh.
Until the blond guy adds, “And every buckle bunny on tour,” as he saunters away.
And that’s when I step out of Rhett’s hold. Because that guy may be a dick, but he’s not wrong. Rhett has a reputation, and I have a bad habit of letting men I should stay away from break my heart.
* * *
Our drive back to the hotel is quiet. Strained almost.
Back at the arena, things felt natural. I was laughing, he was laughing, his hands were on me, and his friend was poking fun at him. He seemed himself.
And then that one snarky comment brought it all crashing down into reality. Because I’m here working, and he’s the gig. It’s something I have to remind myself.
This time in the elevator, we don’t stare at each other. At least, I don’t stare at him. Instead, I fixate on my boots as I wiggle my toes inside of them.
I can feel him staring at me, but I don’t meet his gaze. Because when I gave him that thumbs up and he grinned back at me, my stomach flipped and then bottomed out. The same way it used to when Rob would wink at me, and I can’t do that again.
“Did they fix the heater in your room?”
I think the only thing accomplished by him flashing his smile at the woman at the front desk while inquiring about the heater in my room this morning was her sliding her number to him across the countertop. Any comprehension of what he was talking to her about was gone the minute she caught sight of him.
I’d been waiting until we were out of earshot to crack a joke about it. But as soon as we walked away, he casually dropped the piece of paper with her number on it into a garbage can in the lobby.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been back to my room.”
When I chance a look up at him, his eyes dart away, and he nods his head.
“How’s your shoulder?” I ask, realizing I haven’t checked yet.
“Not worse.”
“Good.” I lick my lips and rub them together. “That’s good.”
“Listen. About what Emmett said...” He trails off and I hold up a hand.
“You don’t need to explain a thing.”
“I feel like I do. I’m not really like that anymore.” He sounds almost desperate.
“Truly, it’s fine.” Just talking about him with other women makes a gnawing sensation take root at the base of my throat. I shimmy my shoulders then, standing up taller, refusing to curl in on myself.
“I’ve sown my wild oats, but a large part of what you see in the media is grossly exaggerated. I’m not a pig.”
“Rhett.” I don’t know why he needs to keep talking about this. “I know. I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve glued myself to you for days on end now, and you haven’t done a single thing to make me think you are. You’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
We stare at each other now, and my lips twitch. “A grumpy, stubborn gentleman.”
He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. The elevator dings, and the moment evaporates. We wave and say our goodbyes before disappearing into our rooms.
Or, I should say, he disappears into his warm one, and I disappear into my cold one. Because they clearly didn’t fix shit.
I opt to have a hot shower, layer up, and crawl under my covers to dream about the cozy room I’ve been assigned at Wishing Well Ranch. The hot coffee in the kitchen every morning. The charming family dinners where all the men on the ranch file into the main house to make fun of each other while cooking a meal.
But first, my phone rings.