Page 70 of Knot my First Rodeo

Like a psychopath.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he ignores me.

The audacity.

Clint slides a plate onto the table in front of me before I can spiral any further. “Eat.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Eat anyway.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the smell hits again, and suddenly whatever point I had feels less important than bacon.

“Fine.”

Tripp snorts into his coffee.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You know it’s serious when she gives up that easily.”

I flip him off while reaching for bacon.

Nobody comments on how fast I start eating. Halfway through my second piece of toast, uncomfortable warmth rolls over me again, and I tug at the collar of my shirt before I can stop myself.

Clint notices. “You warm?”

“No.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s called glowing.”

“That ain’t glowing.”

“Wow. Thanks for being supportive.”

Tripp laughs into his coffee.

Briggs stays quiet.

I hate how much that bothers me.

Because what the hell happened to ‘you’re not right’, storming away, and all the weird tension from yesterday? Now, suddenly we’re pretending none of it happened?

Absolutely not.

Briggs stands first, grabbing his hat off the counter like this is a completely normal morning where nobody made out beside a livestock feed less than twenty-four hours ago.

“We’re fixing the fence after breakfast.”

I stare at him; he doesn’t even blink.

“You always this good at pretending things didn’t happen?” I ask before I can stop myself.

The room goes quiet.

Tripp slowly lowers his mug, Clint looks between us once, and Briggs pauses near the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What’re you talking about?”