“It’s not okay with me that you’re trying to forget I’m an attractive woman.”
A pained look creeps across his face.
“You kissed me, Warner, and it was the best damn kiss I’ve ever had. And not to make you uncomfortable, but I’ve kissed the kind of men women the world over would pay to kiss.” Full disclosure, many of those men were terrible kissers. Not the point. “So fine, I get it, you need us to just be friends. And maybe I do, too. I’m not that far out of a relationship either. But please stop trying to look at me and see something else. You don’t have to give in to your attraction to me, but at least stop denying its existence.”
Warner blinks up at me. I realize how ridiculous this looks, me on a horse and Warner holding the reins. Warner opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. He’s all business after that. He teaches me how to hold the reins and give directions, how to position my body. I tell him about a scene in the movie where the horse spooks and gallops with me on the back, and when he makes a worried face, I assure him there will be a stunt double that day.
When we’re finished, Warner has me lead Priscilla into the stable and put her back in her stall. I remove the saddle and replace it to the spot where I saw him grab it earlier. I finish by brushing Priscilla, just to show him I’m not completely inept.
I’m latching the gate on the stall when he says my name in a quiet voice. I pivot and he is there, all six-feet something of him, broad-shouldered and well-muscled and conflicted as hell. “I’ll stop denying it.”
There’s nothing I can do but nod. I hear him loud and clear. He’ll stop denying, but it doesn’t mean he’ll start giving in. It’s the best he can do right now, and I like him enough that I’ll take what I can get. Even as strictly friends, I enjoy spending time with him.
I take a look at my watch. “Do you want to come over for a sandwich and a beer? I have a lot of lunch meat to use up.”
“I’d like that.” He ducks his head in the quintessential cowboy way, even though he’s wearing his standard ball cap. “Wes asked me to stop by the homestead, so I’m going to do that and then I’ll be over.”
We go our separate ways. I assemble lunch and realize I don’t have beer. I shoot a text to Warner and he replies telling me he’ll be over in ten and he’ll bring the drinks.
I’m standing in the kitchen, looking through the back window out toward Warner’s place, when my phone rings. I saw his truck pull up a minute ago, so I know he’ll be along soon. Reaching out to my phone on the counter, I hit the speaker button.
“Hey, Gretchen,” I answer, placing each sandwich on a plate.
“Tenley, hi. Bad news.”
I frown at the phone. Bad news comes in so many forms. “What?”
“It’s about the security guards. No luck. Still.” Her tone is apologetic, not that she has anything she needs to apologize for. It’s not her fault the security agency is fresh out of bodyguards.
Movement out the window draws my attention away from the phone. Warner, in a clean shirt and what I imagine is a fresh pair of jeans, strides across the distance between our cabins, two longneck bottles gathered in one hand. Sunlight turns his dark brown hair the same burnished color as his eyes. God, that man is sexy as sin.
“That’s okay, Gretchen. Thanks for letting me know.”
The back door opens and Warner steps in. He opens his mouth to speak but Gretchen’s voice fills the kitchen and his confused gaze swings to my phone.
“I can’t believe your birthday is tomorrow. I’m bummed. I wanted to make your usual, but obviously we’ll have to wait until you get back home.”
I take the phone off speaker and hold it to my ear. “I’ll be missing yours next month too. Let’s plan a birthday night when I get back. You make my red velvet, I’ll make your lemon coconut.”
We chat for a minute more, then say goodbye. Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I turn around to face Warner. He’s leaning against the counter, his feet crossed at the ankles. One half of his sandwich is already gone.
“You weren’t going to tell me tomorrow is your birthday, were you?”
“Nope.” I brace my hands behind myself on the counter and hoist myself up to sit.
Warner shakes his head and opens a drawer, removing a bottle opener. He flips the tops off, swinging the metal opener like a bat and making contact with each top. They hit the tiled backsplash and drop into the sink.
“Did you play baseball?” I take the beer he’s offering.
Warner nods. He plucks the tops from the sink and drops them into the trash, then leans back against the counter. He’s across the small kitchen, about as far away from me as he can get without tucking himself into the fridge, but he may as well be next to me. My body’s awareness of him is embarrassing.
“I played Little League growing up and made the varsity team my freshman year of high school.”
I sip my beer. “Did you ever think about continuing after high school?”
Warner looks down at the bottle, tipping it just slightly like he’s reading the label. “I was offered a scholarship to a school back east.”
“From your tone I get the feeling you didn’t take it?”
Warner glances up, his dark eyelashes thick and partially concealing his gaze. “Anna didn’t get in.”
My breath sticks in my chest. It’s the first time he has really mentioned her, the very first time he has said her name to me. I swallow and say, “That must have been a tough choice.”
Warner’s head moves back and forth slowly, as if he’s stuck in the time period. “It wasn’t, not really. I knew what I wanted more than anything, and it wasn’t baseball.”
I’m not sure what to say, or where to look, so I drink the beer and look up at the ceiling. When I right my head, I find Warner’s gaze on mine.
“How did you meet Tate?” His voice is deep and even, and he looks genuinely curious.
“At an award ceremony. On the red carpet. I was in the middle of an interview, telling the reporter who made my dress, when Tate interrupted.” The memory turns my lips into a wistful smile. “He asked me on a date right then, on camera. It was incredibly romantic. The stuff of movies, but in real life.” My fingers play with the hem of my shorts. “LA is the land of hard work and broken dreams, but some dreams slip through the cracks and come true. And it’s easy to get caught up in the fantasy that true love exists.” I feel my wistful smile dripping, rearranging into a grimace. “That’s what I sell in every movie I make. True love. It’s a product, and it sells well. And for a period of time, even I bought what I was selling. Until, well, you know…” My eyes flicker up, catching on Warner’s face.
He’s listening intently, his eyes squinting as he focuses. “True love, huh? You thought you had it?”
I lift one shoulder, then drop it. “Looking back, I’m inclined to say no. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, and all that.” My heels bump the kitchen drawers softly as I consider my next words. “Tate was probably right for who I was at the beginning of our relationship. But as time went on, I started to feel… stuck. Stifled. Like there was more for me somewhere, out from in front of the camera. Tate’s not like that.” As I say it, I see him in my mind, looking at himself in a store window as he passes. He’s on his way to the gym, and then meeting the mobile tanning person. It’s not that he’s so in love with himself he’d fall in a pool of his own reflection and drown, but Tate understands the industry and doesn’t mind living up to its standards. I mind. I care. I’m sick of it.