completely different to realize what was right. Unfortunately, Hector ended up a casualty of my casual stupidity. He totally didn’t deserve the way I treated him. I’m glad we ran into each other so I could apologize.”
“So it’s all better?”
“It’s all better.” Brad changed the subject. “So what is it with you and cowboys? You’ve always had a thing for the cowboys,” Brad mused as he drove Charlotte home. “Who was that guy you used moon over? The rodeo guy? Something Fletcher?”
“Jasper. Jasper Fletcher.”
“That boy could fill out a pair of jeans. Whew.”
“Yeah.”
She hadn’t thought about Jasper Fletcher in years.
She sighed.
They met at an equestrian competition and immediately hit it off even though Jasper had teased her unmercifully about being a prissy Saddle Seat rider. She had confessed that she really wanted to ride Western style, and Jasper had encouraged her, going as far as letting her ride one of his horses and giving her advice on appropriate show wear.
And she had won and was thrilled enough to tell her parents about it, thinking that they would be thrilled that she excelled at some aspect of equestrianism.
But, of course, they weren’t.
And just like that, Jasper had dropped her like a hot potato, stating that he had to concentrate on his riding, that he was trying to go pro and did not need the distraction of a girl. Charlotte had been heartbroken and had quit competing all together, in any discipline, and had thrown herself into her studies.
“Charlotte, honey? What’s wrong?” Brad looked at her with concern.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Well, you should be. You and that little cowboy tore the floor up tonight.”
Charlotte smiled. “He’s not that little, really, just . . . tight.”
“I bet he’s strong as hell.”
“Yep.” She sighed. “Just drop me off, Brad. You don’t have to bother coming up.”
“Charlotte . . .”
“I’m sure. If you come up, we’ll have a nightcap, and then we’ll start watching a movie, and then it’ll be six in the morning and I’ll be crabby, and you’ll be cranky, and that won’t be any good for anyone. Besides, there’s a security guard to make sure I get up to my apartment okay.”
“True,” Brad said as he sidled next to the curb in front of Charlotte’s apartment building. “You sure you’re okay, honey?”
“I’m fine.” She kissed his cheek. “Thanks for making me go out.”
“You’re welcome.” Charlotte got out of the car, and as she was walking in the door, she heard Brad back up and yell out the window, “You better call that little cowboy. He likes you.”
She turned around and laughed. “I will, Brad. Be safe going home.”
Charlotte waved at the security guard and got in the elevator to ride up to her floor. She leaned back against the wall, thumbed through her phone to Tig’s contact, and laughed when she realized he had taken a picture and put it in his contact—the cowboy hat, one cornflower-blue eye, and a light blond eyebrow peeking at her from the small window of the photo.
She was tempted to call him right then, beg him to come over, and see how strong those arms really were.
But she did not.
Instead she went into her dark apartment and went to bed without washing off her makeup, only to dream about birthday cakes and cowboys doing the lindy hop.
Oh, hell no. I am not spending every Sunday with these jokers, especially if Brad’s not here to join me in mocking them.
Charlotte had put on a suit—a peacock-blue one that her mother hated because it was very retro and had a kick pleat in the back—and trotted to the country club like a good little girl, even if she was exhausted from not sleeping soundly.
But she was here, just like she promised and was expected to be.
“Why, hello, Mr. Walters, how are you?” she gushed, not hiding her insincerity and knowing that no one would notice except Brad, who wasn’t even going to be here because he
“So it’s all better?”
“It’s all better.” Brad changed the subject. “So what is it with you and cowboys? You’ve always had a thing for the cowboys,” Brad mused as he drove Charlotte home. “Who was that guy you used moon over? The rodeo guy? Something Fletcher?”
“Jasper. Jasper Fletcher.”
“That boy could fill out a pair of jeans. Whew.”
“Yeah.”
She hadn’t thought about Jasper Fletcher in years.
She sighed.
They met at an equestrian competition and immediately hit it off even though Jasper had teased her unmercifully about being a prissy Saddle Seat rider. She had confessed that she really wanted to ride Western style, and Jasper had encouraged her, going as far as letting her ride one of his horses and giving her advice on appropriate show wear.
And she had won and was thrilled enough to tell her parents about it, thinking that they would be thrilled that she excelled at some aspect of equestrianism.
But, of course, they weren’t.
And just like that, Jasper had dropped her like a hot potato, stating that he had to concentrate on his riding, that he was trying to go pro and did not need the distraction of a girl. Charlotte had been heartbroken and had quit competing all together, in any discipline, and had thrown herself into her studies.
“Charlotte, honey? What’s wrong?” Brad looked at her with concern.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Well, you should be. You and that little cowboy tore the floor up tonight.”
Charlotte smiled. “He’s not that little, really, just . . . tight.”
“I bet he’s strong as hell.”
“Yep.” She sighed. “Just drop me off, Brad. You don’t have to bother coming up.”
“Charlotte . . .”
“I’m sure. If you come up, we’ll have a nightcap, and then we’ll start watching a movie, and then it’ll be six in the morning and I’ll be crabby, and you’ll be cranky, and that won’t be any good for anyone. Besides, there’s a security guard to make sure I get up to my apartment okay.”
“True,” Brad said as he sidled next to the curb in front of Charlotte’s apartment building. “You sure you’re okay, honey?”
“I’m fine.” She kissed his cheek. “Thanks for making me go out.”
“You’re welcome.” Charlotte got out of the car, and as she was walking in the door, she heard Brad back up and yell out the window, “You better call that little cowboy. He likes you.”
She turned around and laughed. “I will, Brad. Be safe going home.”
Charlotte waved at the security guard and got in the elevator to ride up to her floor. She leaned back against the wall, thumbed through her phone to Tig’s contact, and laughed when she realized he had taken a picture and put it in his contact—the cowboy hat, one cornflower-blue eye, and a light blond eyebrow peeking at her from the small window of the photo.
She was tempted to call him right then, beg him to come over, and see how strong those arms really were.
But she did not.
Instead she went into her dark apartment and went to bed without washing off her makeup, only to dream about birthday cakes and cowboys doing the lindy hop.
Oh, hell no. I am not spending every Sunday with these jokers, especially if Brad’s not here to join me in mocking them.
Charlotte had put on a suit—a peacock-blue one that her mother hated because it was very retro and had a kick pleat in the back—and trotted to the country club like a good little girl, even if she was exhausted from not sleeping soundly.
But she was here, just like she promised and was expected to be.
“Why, hello, Mr. Walters, how are you?” she gushed, not hiding her insincerity and knowing that no one would notice except Brad, who wasn’t even going to be here because he
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