Page 2 of Homebound

That damn well better be what he means.

“Nah, she’s been having some trouble staying on lately, so it’s not that…” The cowboy’s smirk deepens.

I don’t like that smug look. Not one bit, and I can already tell I’m going to hate whatever comes out of his mouth.

“It’s for riding cowboys as hard as she rides bulls.” He chortles, his mustache twitching.

It’s the gut punch I was waiting for, but at least that’s something that hasn’t changed. She always had a boy following her around every summer I came back to Texas. I’d give almost anything to be one of those men lucky enough to be with her now.

If she’s still breaking hearts, I’ll gladly hand her mine.

The other cowboy slaps his knee. “She’ll kill you, wreck you up nice and good if you’re not careful, but it’ll be a hell of a way to go. Didn’t you hear what she did to Boone? Poor guy.”

I tense up. Boone Bowman. There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while, and one I’d be happy to never hear again.

“I’d be careful how you speak about her if I were you,” I grit out.

As much as I want to tell these guys off, I grind my teeth so I don’t let any choice words slip out. My baby girl is a little sponge, soaking up every word I say.

I try to limit the cursing, even when she’s not around. Not that I mind a woman who curses. In fact, I like a woman with a dirty mouth. But I don’t want all the parents in daycare side-eyeing me if my daughter goes around squealing fuck.

So unfortunately, that means I can’t say what I’m thinking—and what I’m thinking is that these guys playing cowboy dress-up need a weeklong seminar on how to respect a woman.

The mustache guy slides his gaze to me. “Let me guess… You’ve been wrecked by her too?”

My fists clench, but I stay silent out of respect for her. These small towns and their gossip. It’s not the gray-haired ladies that keep the rumor mills churning; it’s the rowdy cowboys who can’t keep their mouths shut.

The only way to keep a secret in a small town is to tell it to your dog.

They continue talking while my grip tightens and tightens on my knees. Jealousy rips through me the more I hear about all the cowboys she’s apparently wrecked, but I’ve been stuck in the friend zone for over a decade, so I’m used to the feeling. I spent all my summers watching every boy in this town fall at her boots.

Everyone wanted her. But me, I was desperate for her—still am.

Every summer I came back to Texas, she always had some new guy wrapped around her finger, and I was always, without fail, the giant third wheel.

I thought getting my braces off would change things.

I thought having my acne clear up would make her see me differently.

I thought she’d finally notice me after I packed on twenty pounds of pure, solid muscle.

But I’d thought wrong.

So damn wrong.

I blame it on the fact that she’s two years older than me, which in the big scheme of life is nothing, but when you’re fifteen and she’s seventeen? It feels massive.

Not so massive now that I’m twenty-six and she’s twenty-eight, though.

Growing up, she never saw me as anything more than the little boy next door, and for a while that was enough. My parents’ flower farm bordered her family’s property. So every summer, I’d sprint off the airplane and run straight into her waiting arms.

That was our routine.

I’d run, and she’d catch me, but as we got older, things changed. Reversed.

My voice dropped.

She got… curvier.