“I did. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to find a way to hurt you, because I looked at you in the face and... I didn’t hurt you. I couldn’t hurt you. And I hated that. I wanted to.”

“That’s the problem,” he said. “You can’t get to me like that.”

“That’s what I don’t understand. I don’t understand why.”

“Let’s just call it a night,” he said, pushing his plate back to the center of the table.

“Why?”

“Because the point of this wasn’t to rehash what we were. I thought the point of it was to find some common ground now.”

“Yes. I guess so. But I... I gave you everything, you know that. I gave you everything. And...” She swallowed hard. “I guess it just doesn’t matter, does it? But part of me wanted to hurt you. To take even half of what you took from me away from you.”

“If you want the fucking scarf, you can have the scarf.”

“I don’t care about the scarf,” she said. “It was never about the scarf.”

“Are you going to tell me the scarf is a metaphor, because I literally have your scarf, so I think you know it isn’t.”

“No, the scarf doesn’t matter. It’s just part of a lie that you told. That I didn’t matter, because if you do have it, if you can really give it back to me, then why? Why do you have it at all?”

Rage welled up inside him. And other emotions he didn’t want to examine.

Couldn’t.

“I have it,” he ground out. “Because the idea of getting rid of it feels like cutting my arm off. Are you happy about that? Is that what you want to hear?”

She sat back, and he just stared. He didn’t know why the hell he’d said any of that.

“I will go get you your scarf.”

He pushed the chair back, and stepped away, and he didn’t look back at her.

Chapter 6

Before

She held her breath while she watched him ride. She always did. But he was always perfect. But last night she’d kissed him, and somehow things felt...really tangled up now. But that kiss had been...everything she’d ever imagined a kiss might be. No, she had never kissed anyone before that night. Before him.

She hadn’t wanted to.

Was that really all she was going to do? Really? Was she really just going to...kiss him?

She couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not right now. She couldn’t afford to be derailed.

Maybe she was even on the verge of something with her music. And the last thing she needed was...

All the dire consequences her mother had ever told her about what happened when you got with men who were far too pretty for their own good rolled through her.

She knew better. She did. They opened the chute, and the bull with Flint on his back tore out of there.

She held her breath, but he didn’t make it eight seconds. It was only four. And he was on the ground.

“Oh shit,” she said, her hand going up over her mouth.

Sure, he got another chance. Another ride.

But she’d never seen him fall.

He got up and shook it off, went back and got back on. The gate opened again, and out he went. This time he stayed on, but only barely. And his score was... It wasn’t good.

It hadn’t been a clean ride.

She greeted him at the back of the gates, right when he came through. “What happened?” she asked.

“I was thinking about something else,” he said.

And everything in her went still.

They just stood there and looked at each other. There was space between them, but it felt filled. With something. Something big. Bigger than maybe the two of them.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

“You better win,” he said. “One of us has to.”

She did win.

It didn’t really matter that much. And maybe that was the thing. It didn’t matter; he did.

They ended up in his truck again, kissing like they might die if they didn’t.

This time, his hands moved. Rough, up under her shirt, moving along the line of her spine. She arched against him, and when he pushed his fingertips beneath the band of her bra, she stopped. “Flint... I have to... I haven’t done this before.”

He froze. “You haven’t done what?”

“I haven’t had sex. I’m not... I’m not ready.”

He slowly released his hold on her. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I didn’t... I didn’t realize that.”

“I know. Because I didn’t tell you. Can we still kiss?”

“Yes,” he said. “Definitely can.”

“Okay. I don’t... Just not yet.”

She just needed to be more sure. Of her feelings. Of his. Of everything. She was just afraid.

“My dad really hurt me,” she said. “And yes. I get that I’m a cliché. I get that it’s like...a whole lot of daddy issues. But I’m aware of them. I’m trying to not...”