Chapter 11 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I didn’t think he’d actually do it.

I pull open the door, stunned. There’s an Uber outside on the curb. Maybe I wasn’t sure if he would send a car, but I still packed everything in my pink roller bag. And I made sure my shorts with the word Cowboy across the ass are extra short today. It’s a brief flight, but I stole Mom’s Uggs and her oversized mint-green sweatshirt so I could be comfortable. Basically, I look like I just rolled out of a sorority, which has to be the last thing he’s expecting.

“Uber for Serena?”

A man in his sixties steps out and reaches for my bag when I meet him at the curb.

“That’s me,” I say.

“Hop in,” he says. “I’ll get this loaded up. We’ve only got a short drive.”

I smile and get in the back, phone clutched in my hand. He gets in and seems to sense I’m not in the mood to talk, because he turns on the radio and focuses on the drive. My stomach is clenched so tight I can barely feel it. My heart keeps beating slow then so fast I’m breathless and hot beneath my sweatshirt.

I want him so badly. I’m so mad he left, but I’m not supposed to be mad because it was a random hookup.

He’s nothing to me. He never was.

I think I just need a chance to fuck him out of my system. Turning my phone, I text Mom.

Hey, can I tell you something? I ask.

It takes a while for her to respond. We get to the airport, and I gather my bags, thanking the driver. Then, I’m going through security, which is thankfully fairly empty in the middle of the day, and head to my gate. I only have twenty minutes to board, but no boarding pass yet. I start flipping through my email if, for some reason, he found my email and sent it that way.

Nothing.

Frowning, I go to text him, and just as I do, he sends me a screenshot of it.

My brows rise. First class.

Feeling bougie today, huh? I text back.

Yep, he says.

I roll my eyes. Before I can answer him, Mom responds. My pulse increases even faster as I type out the message I need to send: I’m going to see Jamie at his house in Maine. I’m not ready to talk about it. But I need a chance to get him out of my system. I won’t be gone for more than tonight.

When I send that, something clicks into place in my chest, and I go from anxious to determined. I made the right choice in seeing him again. My phone pings, and I turn it over with apprehension.

At least you got The Works done the other day. Love you and use protection.

Xx, Mom.

I bite my lip and smile. Over the intercom, they’re calling first class. I grab my bag and get in line and head along the walkway to find my seat. I pull my headphones over my ears and sink into the coziness of Mom’s hoodie. It smells faintly of her perfume. A little bit of guilt rises. I was only there for four days, granted we did everything we could possibly fit in over the weekend. But I know Mom loves it when her daughters are around, and I’m sure she’s disappointed that I left.

I’ll fix it.

I just…have to fix this first.

The seatbelt lights come on. The runway rumbles beneath my feet, and then we’re rising into the air.

It’s too late to turn back. Not when he paid for a car and a first-class ticket. I don’t want to turn back, anyway. All I can think about is the last time we fucked, in my bedroom. He was so gentle, like he knew it would be a long time until he saw me again. I wonder whether he did. I’ve wondered that every day since. It’s driven me up the wall, turning it over in my head. When he kissed me the last time…did he know he was leaving without saying goodbye properly? Or was that intentional?

I thought for so long it was because he didn’t care.

And then…he texted me this morning.

If he was a fuck boy, he would have come around again. He knows I won’t turn him down even though I should after how he iced me out. So what happened in the last year that made him send that text? Did his trip to the ranch change something? I want to believe he’s been suffering the way I have—tortured by the memories of what we did on my rickety twin bed that summer. Did he lay awake all night the way I did?

I flip to the next song on my playlist. It’s slow, sad. I move on to another, but it’s just as sad. I’m starting to see a pattern here.

Turning my head, I lean my temple against the wall and look at the checkerboard below. If I’m honest with myself, I need this because since he touched me, I haven’t been the same.

Every day is like the day after I died. Except I’m still alive and living the same day over and over again. Get up, chores, eat, chores, eat, sleep, and do it all over again. I play the guitar and sing a little, but other than that, I haven’t been interested in books or shows. I sit at the table like a doll in a dollhouse and watch my sister smile, her life starting with the man she loves. I wonder whether she feels what I felt for those five nights.

I wonder if I’m pathetic and unreasonable.

Is it possible to be in love with someone after such a short amount of time?

Or is this just lust?

There’s a possibility I’m too fucked up or something to know the difference.

The flight attendant comes around. I get a glass of champagne to help calm my nerves. By the time we touch down, there’s a pleasant buzz in the back of my skull. I drink the rest of my water and stop for an iced coffee, then gather my rolling carry-on and head through the exit ramp. My stomach flip-flops as I pause and scan the pick-up area. It’s almost six. I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe the plane landed early.

“Hey.”

My heart rises sharply. My ears roar.

I turn, and there he is: Jamie Iron. Just standing there, looking so handsome it almost spirals me into a fresh rage. I take a second, swallow hard.

I agreed to be here. I could have said no.

Heat trickles through my veins, and I push my anger to the back burner. He comes closer, and I sense a little bit of hesitation in the way he’s walking. I start toward him, and we meet just inside the doors. He’s so fucking tall and handsome. I hate his sexy mustache and his heavy eyes that feel like his bare hands when they drag over me from head to toe.

“You look really good,” he says finally.

“So do you,” I retort. “Asshole.”

He smiles, reaching for my bag. “That’s more like it.”

“What does that mean?”

He moves ahead, and I scurry after him, stepping onto the curb. He tosses my beautiful pink bag into the back of his truck and pulls open the passenger door. I pause, clutching my iced coffee, and give him a look. He jerks his head at the truck.

“Just get in,” he says.

It’s very hard to be angry right now because he has one of the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard. It’s part of the reason it took about a minute for him to convince me to let him into my bed. I love how deep and gravelly it is, sitting in his chest. He’s never raised it, either. He doesn’t need to; people listen when he speaks.

Except for me. Maybe that’s why I keep pushing his buttons.

“Serena,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. He gives me a long-suffering stare.

“Fine,” I say, climbing in. “But I’m doing it because I want to, not because—”

He shuts the door in my face and circles the truck. It takes him a second with all the traffic, but he slides behind the wheel and hits the key fob. We sit in silence as we pull out of the parking lot and get on the road. Every nerve in my body tingles as if I touched a live wire. The fog that’s sat at the base of my skull for months is gone. Just like that, just like fucking that. He smells good, and it’s everywhere, cool and clean. The smell I turned over in my head until I couldn’t remember it anymore while I held the little thread from his shirt that he left on my pillow until it fell apart.

I take a sip of coffee. He adjusts his hand on the wheel.

“Why didn’t you text me?” I whisper.

The highway drags on, further and further from the town. We’re in some of the most breathtaking landscape I’ve ever seen. It’s very different from both New York State and Wyoming, far more coastal. I think I smell the sea, faintly through the closed windows.

He clears his throat.

“That should be obvious,” he says.

I swallow hard. “Why?”

“Because you’re twenty-three and you have your whole fucking life ahead of you,” he says roughly.

“Yeah, well, I never asked you to marry me.”

“Good, I wasn’t going to.”

“Fine,” I snap, slamming my coffee into the console. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Silence. Inside, I’m burning. My body doesn’t care if my head is angry. Between my legs, I remember him, and I want him all over again. In every known position until he fucks himself out of my system. I’ve been a zombie for an entire year, remembering him, and this is my chance. Maybe I’ll go back in a couple days. Maybe I’ll let him fuck me until we’re both so sick of each other that we know for sure it’s over and done with.

He taps his thumb on the wheel. I glance over, and his jaw is clenched.

“So why did you bring me here?” I ask.

“Because you said yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“To being brought here.”

“But why?” My voice cracks.

He flicks his gaze around briefly. Fire bursts through my veins as our eyes connect.

“I’m gonna fuck you, Serena,” he says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He swings the car around a turn, and we’re on a state route now. “And you’re gonna shut up and come on my dick until we stop doing whatever the fuck this is because it’s bothering me. I don’t like being bothered.”

I am on fire. Burning in every cell. Normally, I would come up with a sassy little comeback, but all I can think about is…well, how I’m about to sleep with him again.

“Fine,” I say. “You are an asshole. Anyone ever told you that?”

“Yep. You. A few minutes ago.”

God, he is infuriating. We turn off the state route, and neither of us speaks until we pull up to a modern home sitting on the cliffs, looking out over the ocean. Normally, I would be stunned by the sight because it’s my first time seeing the ocean. Granted, I’ve seen some very large lakes, so maybe that’s it. More likely it’s him. I jump out of the truck the second he cuts the engine, and he follows me, striding up the walkway.

The house is a huge new build where it looks like two flat boxes stacked. The second floor has a big porch. Everything is dark glass, barely any actual walls to be seen. Behind me, the tailgate clangs, and he pulls my bag out. His shoes crunch on the walkway, and he goes past me, climbing up the porch and pulling open the front door. My heart is pounding so hard I feel it on my tongue.

“Come on, cowgirl,” he says. “Get inside.”

I go, setting my coffee down. This is a really fucking nice house. The door slams shut, and I hear his boots on the floor. I turn and run right into a broad, warm chest. God, he is so tall. I forgot how tall he is. I drag my eyes up his torso, and he looks down at me, like I faintly amuse him.

“Should we fuck around or just fuck?” he asks.

I open my mouth, but he bends down, picks me up by the waist, and sets me on the counter. Our lips are so close. I should care that I spent a few hours traveling, that I need a shower, but clearly he doesn’t care.

“Just fuck,” I whisper.

He leans in and kisses me. It’s been a year, but God, it feels like so much longer. My eyes close, and my body melts. His arm slides around me, my head falling over it. His other hand, big and rough, slides up my waist and beneath my shirt. Fingertips on naked skin.

This is why he’s been imprinted on my brain all year.

Because it’s like a choir starts singing a melody I’ve missed terribly, something I haven’t heard in a lifetime, but I need it so badly to feel safe. The empty, jagged space in my chest heals. My pride takes a backseat. I fall into him like stumbling over a cliff face. His kiss is discreet, but that’s all it takes to tear me to pieces. My head falls back, and he presses his mouth to my neck, to the hollow between my collarbones.

“Goddamn, girl,” he says gruffly.

“Just take me to the fucking bed,” I gasp.

“You don’t want—”

“Jamie,” I snap, pushing my head up. “Fuck me.”

He scoops me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth meets mine, and it’s game over.