Chapter 36 - Chase Me, Cowboy

When I come back, she’s standing out in the yard wearing my hoodie. I set the groceries down and go to look at her through the window. It hurts, knowing she’s not mine. Knowing that if I made her mine, I’d be fucking with her future as she has it planned out.

I should put us both out of our misery and introduce her to Marion, see if she’d take her on, and cut this off forever. If I were a good man and a good agent, I’d do it as soon as we leave the cabin.

She turns, eyes locking through the window. A beautiful smile appears. The cool wind tugs at her blonde hair, sending it tumbling around her shoulders.

God, she is brilliant.

I want to confess everything, but I can’t. I’m in too deep, and I care too much now. Now, ethical lines that I can’t cross are coming at me hard and fast. At this point, Marion might not even be willing to give her a shot. I hate that; it makes me feel like by touching her, I left my fingerprints all over her future. And not in a good way.

I should talk to Marion. Soon.

Pushing everything down, I step outside and come down the steps. The air smells of a crisp autumn evening, not close enough to winter for it to signal snow. She watches me as I approach, letting me slide my hand around her waist and rest my chin on the top of her head. Her body slowly melts into mine. Her soft palm slides over my wrist, fingers intertwining.

“Are you happy here?” she asks.

Surprised, I take a beat to answer.

“Yeah, I like it here a lot,” I say finally.

“No, right now,” she whispers. “With me.”

My stomach flips. We’re riding a fine line, but I don’t want to back down.

“Yeah,” I say roughly. “I am.”

She turns in my arms, looking up at me. Her lips part, shaking. I wait, my heart thudding.

“Can we pretend we’re actually together?” she asks finally.

Disappointed, I consider it. “Do you think that might be a little hurtful when things do end?”

She touches my chest with the tip of her finger, like she’s afraid I’ll shatter.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

I brush her hair back, holding her face.

“How is that any different from what we’re doing now?” I ask, voice dropping. I’m worried it might break.

“You could call me yours.”

Her voice is shaking. Mine isn’t any stronger. The sun is sinking so low it’s turning the sky brilliant red, with haphazard streaks of orange and pink. Everything is on fire, including us.

I take her hand, letting it rest in my open palm.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “At least, not out of the bedroom.”

Her forehead creases. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, I can fuck around when it’s just sex. But outside that…I think it’s a bad idea.”

She studies me in a way that makes me feel see-through, with all my emotions laid bare. We’ve known each other for over a year now. I know she can hear the emotion in my words. I can hear it in hers. There’s an insurmountable wall between us, and it all boils down to her desire to follow the music where it leads. I know one thing for sure—I’ll never get in the way of that.

I also know what the headlines would say if I were with her.

She’s too young for me. I’m too old, too experienced for her. The world will take our relationship and shred it to pieces. I might not be a public figure like Coen, but if I date a young, up-and-coming musician like her, I’m gonna get crucified. That’s a level of critique I don’t want to bring on ITA or Marion. She’s always been careful, and I owe the same care to her.

Especially after what happened with Coen. I never want to be the reason she hits rock bottom.

I blink, dragging myself back to reality, where Serena’s in my arms.

“It’s fine,” she says.

“Which part?” I ask.

“The part where we pretend in the bedroom,” she says. “And do what we’ve been doing outside that.”

Her tone is so…resigned. I hate it. But right now, everything is on hold.

“Alright,” I say. “Then we’ll talk.”

She’s disappointed, but I’m going to make it up to her. I pick her up, and she lets out a little shriek, an arm clamping around my neck. The tension dissipates a little as I carry her up the short steps into the cabin. I set her on the counter, putting my hands on her thighs.

“I want you to enjoy the next couple of days, then we’re gonna talk,” I say firmly.

She hesitates.

“I mean it,” I promise.

Her shoulders sink. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Alright, sweetheart, I’m gonna feed you and fuck you. Then we’ll both feel better, okay?”

She likes that, I can tell. I help her jump down and then gather the groceries, stacking sausage, biscuits, and premade gravy on the counter.

“You want some coffee?” she asks, at the back door.

“Sure. Where you going?”

“Left my mug on the porch steps.”

She disappears and returns, walking past me to the coffee maker. I take the chance to slap her ass as she goes by, watching the way it jiggles. Goddamn, it’s perfect. I’m going to flip her on her hands and knees tonight so I get to watch it shake. That’ll be the perfect end to a long day of travel.

We talk while I cook, about nothing and everything. She asks about the last time I was at the cabin, which wasn’t much to write home about. It was during Christmas, when I didn’t have anywhere else to be. Coen was traveling in Europe; I was at home feeling sorry for myself—I don’t add in that last part because it has to do with Dad. That makes me wonder about her father, who I haven’t asked about. I know he was a problem for a while for Coen, not wanting him around Sabrina, but I never delved deeply into why. Maybe, sometime over the next few days, I’ll get her to open up.

We’re both locked up tight, I’m learning that.

“You want a glass of wine?” I ask.

She leans on the counter, giving me a flirtatious look through her lashes. “Wine with breakfast for dinner? Sounds like you’re trying to seduce me.”

“I don’t have anything else,” I say, reaching under the cabinet and taking out a bottle of red. “We can save it for dessert.”

“Let’s do that.”

A current goes through her words. I don’t think I’m going to have to work hard to seduce her. Serena and I can’t seem to keep off each other; it might be easier if we could. She goes into the living room, pacing in a circle and looking at the decor. I study her from the corner of my eye. Whisps of her golden hair hang loose, and the rest is braided down her back, hanging almost to the middle. It leads my gaze to her round ass, barely contained in those tiny shorts.

My dick twitches. I turn off the stove and reach for a plate.

“How hungry are you?” I ask.

She turns. “Pretty hungry, but I don’t want to be stuffed.”

“I can—”

“Please,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I walked right into that one.”

Two plates in hand, I go into the living room and sit on the couch. She slides up beside me and takes one, curling up. The gas fireplace hisses softly. It’s a big contrast to the last time I was out here with nothing but a bottle of Jack Daniel’s to keep me company. That was a rough year. I was still struggling with my dad, struggling with my aunt passing, even though it had been years for both. The holidays are hard for people like me, I’m well aware. So I pulled in, like a turtle in a shell.

Serena has made me painfully aware, I don’t want to do that anymore.

This feels better.

“You know, you’re not a bad cook,” she says when she hands back her empty plate.

“That surprises you? I’ve been on my own for a while.”

“No, that surprises me.”

“Which part?” I rise and bring the plates back, returning with our wine. She takes one and has a sip.

“The part where you’ve been on your own.” She shifts so she’s lying with her head on the armrest. I sink down, gathering her calves into my lap.

“Why? I run my finger up her thigh.

“Because,” she says, considering me, “you’re rich, hot, and have a big dick.”

“Other things matter, too.”

“But not to everyone,” she says. “How many women have you slept with?”

I cough on my wine, swinging my gaze around to give her a stern look.

“That’s not useful information,” I say.

“It’s useful if I want it.”

“And what are you going to do with it?”

My hand wraps around her ankle, gripping firmly. Reminding her that I’m happy to flip her over and spank her ass if she keeps pushing my buttons. It’s not the number; it’s what she’s planning on doing with it.

“I just want to know,” she says, pouting.

“Honestly, I don’t know—it’s a number, but nothing to drop your jaw. Now, it’s your turn.”

Instantly, she shakes her head. “No, thank you. We can talk about my body count later.”

“Why? You think I won’t be able to handle it?”

“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe it’s just you.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’d be honored, but you know it doesn’t matter, baby. Right now, that’s my pussy.”

Her cheeks flush dark pink. I don’t really have any business calling her pussy mine, but fuck it, I’m gonna do it anyway. My hand shifts higher, but doesn’t touch the strip of her shorts between her thighs. I’m pretty damn smitten right now. Maybe it’s the fireplace or the wine. Most likely it’s just her. All I can think about is that this is how it should be.

Me, her, out in a cabin someplace.

“Is this what not being always on the go feels like?” I wonder aloud.

She’s quiet, lids low.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it would feel like this if…we weren’t both here.”

“I know.”

We both fall quiet. She finishes her wine, and I get her another glass. Then, I sit on the floor with my back to the couch. She lies behind me on the pillows and touches my hair, long nails combing through it. Nobody has ever touched me like this before. It’s always been in a sexual context, not in an easy, familiar way. A way that makes me feel so damn safe.

“You want another glass?” I ask finally.

“Hmm, better not,” she murmurs.

I stretch to look back at her. “You have a chance to shower?”

“Yeah, when you were gone.”

“I’ll go get all the airport off me. You stay put.”

“Won’t move a muscle,” she drawls.

I believe her, she’s melted into the couch. Reluctantly, because I hate leaving her for a second, I go upstairs for a shower. When I come down in my sweats, she’s curled up on the couch with a faux fur rug to her chin.

“Mind if I join?” I ask.

Smiling sleepily, she lifts the blanket, and I slide in behind her, pulling her close to my body. Right away, I’m hard, but I don’t do anything but settle my groin against her ass. A little sigh escapes her lips.

“Are you happy? Just for now,” I sigh.

“Yes,” she says, wriggling her hips.

My dick throbs, and I push back on her advances, grinding gently. Her head sinks to the side, exposing her neck. My mouth finds it and kisses up to the hollow behind her ear.

“I’m on birth control,” she breathes.

I’m surprised. “Since when?”

“Since I was in Wyoming last.”

Touching her side, I run my palm down her hips and beneath her shorts. She moans as my fingertips slide between her thighs.

“Did you do that for me?” I ask.

Silence. Maybe she doesn’t want to tell me the truth.

“I don’t know why,” she says finally. “Maybe, deep down, I hoped we’d see each other one more time.”

My chest hurts. Head empty, I tug her shorts to her ankles, slipping them off her legs. She moans, even though I’m not touching her yet. My fingers skate over her pussy, and she’s wet—fuck me, she’s soaked and swollen. Heart pounding, I push down the front of my pants and drag her against me, arching her back so I can push into her pussy. Where I fucking belong.

“God,” she whimpers.

One hand on her hip, one moving to rest gently on her throat, I start thrusting. She’s so tight, so perfect, like we were made for each other.

“Mine,” I say, under my breath.

“Hmm?”

Her eyes are shut, head lolled. I kiss her neck and nip her earlobe.

“Mine,” I say, loud enough that she hears me.

Her pussy clenches when I say that word, the word she wanted to hear, even if it’s not true. Even if there’s no pathway to it that I can see tonight. That’s alright. Our pretend world is a better place because she’s in it. All that matters is her skin on mine, her pussy wrapped around my cock, her soft, little moans in the stillness of the room. The firelight on her skin, on her golden hair.

I’ve never been a songwriter, but if I were, she’d be the centerpiece of every verse. Some of my clients write the most gut-wrenching albums about their partners, husbands, wives. I’ve never understood it before. I guess I thought a lot of it was just bullshit, that I was only interested because heartbreak and love sell like nothing else, better than sex.

Now, I get it.