Page 6 of Forbidden Cowboy

“We’ll stay with you until you want us to go,” he said quietly, replacing that hand on my arm.

* * *

“Congrats, Squish!” Beau yelled.

I laughed and threw a can of beer at him. He caught it easily and spiked it, downing the alcohol to the cheers of my classmates. I stayed by the steps, watching over the ice buckets like some guardian of the alcohol.

“You’re not going to join the party? You love to dance,” A deep voice said from beside me.

I looked at Wyatt, and like always, it was a bit like staring into the sun. I winced and shook my head, showing him the blisters the heels I had worn all day had given me.

“Yikes,” he said, “I don’t know why girls wear shoes that do that to them.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly wear steel-toes to my graduation, it wouldn’t have gone with my dress!” I laughed, and pushed him lightly.

Dramatically, he toppled over into the grass, clutching at his chest.

“I’ve been struck,” he moaned. “This might be it… tell your brother… our bromance was the greatest love story of my life…”

I laughed loudly, and he sat back up, joining me where I was sitting on the bottom of the hill.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said.

“In a good way?” He asked.

I pursed my lips like I had to think about it for a second.

“I suppose,” I shrugged.

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly, standing and holding out his hand.

My brain short-circuited.

“Wh-what?”

“Dance with me,” he repeated. “I’ll even let you stand on my feet so you don’t step on rocks.”

I rolled my eyes in an attempt at nonchalance, and took his hand. I squealed when he picked me up by my waist, and carried me over the gravel that made up the driveway of his home, only setting me down on the other side, where my brother was dancing with some girl I didn’t recognize as the speakers blared out a slow pop song.

“Here,” Wyatt said, and pulled me closer to him, so I was standing on his—

“Steel-toed boots,” I laughed. “I should have known.”

“Heels didn’t go with my look,” he returned with a smile.

We swayed in that awkward way teens do when they don’t know how to dance, but I lost myself in the sensation. I had danced with Wyatt before, at weddings and parties, in his family basement when a group of us played truth or dare, but it had never been like this. I had never been pressed so close to him, holding on so I wouldn’t fall off of his shoes as he moved us both with strength rippling through every part of him. It was almost overwhelming to be so close to him, especially after my own personal epiphany earlier that year of being in love with him.

The song drew to a close as the sun pulled beyond the horizon, effectively ending the golden hour and the three golden minutes I’d spent in his arms. I felt his grip on me loosen, and I held tighter to his waist, the words bubbling up in me that I didn’t think I’d ever be bold enough to speak.

“Sierra?”

My name was a question on his lips—not Squish, the embarrassing nickname he and Beau had saddled me with for our entire, shared, childhood. Sierra. It was like a shot of adrenaline.

“I’m in love with you,” I blurted, squeezing my eyes shut as I did so.

I felt strong arms gently disentangle me from him, putting space between us, and I knew my heart was breaking even as I stepped back onto the soft grass. I opened my eyes and saw something infinitely painful there, some desire that was wiped off his face almost as soon as I had the chance to register it.

“No, you’re not,” he said in a dry voice. No emotion. “You’re not in love with me.”