CHAPTER 76

west

O ur date was an early dinner at a nice restaurant—the kind where waiters had uniforms and there was a lot of shit in French on the menu. Thankfully, the few things that were in English were things I’d eat. And fuck, the food was goddamn good.

Jackson being Jackson thought everything out, including finding another restaurant in Eugene that offered rooftop dining. No enclosed spaces and no people chaos. It made it easier to enjoy the date with him.

And as long as we didn’t talk about how long he would be gone, things were okay. I wasn’t sure what to think about Jackson leaving for a few months. There was something uncomfortable in my chest—something I didn’t have the fucking words for. It bothered me daily. More than I was ready to admit. I wasn’t used to wanting people around, but I wanted Jackson around.

I didn’t know what to do with that piece of information.

I did my best not to focus on it. Ignoring it during dinner was easy. After we ate, we grabbed blankets from the back of his truck. Why the fuck we needed blankets was beyond me, and he didn’t give me a goddamn answer. Instead, Jackson just smiled.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he told me. I wanted to believe him—I fucking did. The anxiety of not knowing made it difficult. I didn’t tell him that, though. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful for all the work he’d put into planning this for us.

For me.

We ended up on another rooftop—one with a giant movie screen, mood lighting, and couples scattered across the ground on their own personal mounds of blankets and pillows.

“Rooftop movie?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied. I followed him as he weaved his way through a row of people until we were at the very back of it all. “I even convinced them to keep the very back open for us.”

Away from people. Fuck. Did he think of everything?

“Now,” he began as he tossed blankets on the ground, “it ain’t no elevator shaft action film, but it is supposed to be funny, so we’ll see.”

The movie turned out to be some ridiculous Western comedy with horses, cowboys, and a fuck ton of shenanigans. I didn’t have a clue what was happening. My attention kept getting drawn back to Jackson and the understanding this was it for a while.

Or maybe for good. Who knew what would happen when he got back to the ranch? Would I still be there? Hell, I still couldn’t figure out what my plan was for fucking anything.

“Are you nervous?” I asked in a hush. He cocked a brow curiously. “About the rodeo.”

“Usually,” he said. “Not enough to make me quit. It’s that big event kind of nervous. The first ride is always a big deal. It sets the expectations, you know? There’s a good number of fresh blood joining this year.”

“And you’re old.” I poked the bear a little, finding satisfaction in his grumpy scowl.

“I fucking hate when people call me old,” he muttered. “I know I’m old—right on the edge of retirement—I get it. I just fucking hate it when everyone reminds me of it. I like what I do. I don’t want to fucking think about the rest of it.”

I didn’t know what that was like .

“I could punch them,” I offered, enjoying the laugh it pulled out of him. The people in front of us didn’t much appreciate it from the fucking glares they sent our direction. Jackson sank down on the rolled-up blanket, biting back his laughter. “Want me to punch them too?”

“I ain’t got the fucking money to bail you out,” Jackson whispered. “You hit someone, I’ll come see you during visiting hours.”

“Throw food at them, got it,” I retorted. He snorted as he tried to hold back his laughter.

“You’re trouble, West McNamara,” he said. “Always was.”

“I’m sorry, who the fuck came up with all the plans for all the shit we did?” I asked. His smile only widened. I liked being the one to put it there.

“Will you still do shit with the rodeo when you no longer ride?”

“Maybe. Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Are rodeo clowns still a thing?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’d make a damn good rodeo clown,” I teased. “You got the fucking face for it and everything.”

“I will beat your ass,” he snapped.

Someone in front of us shushed us, and I resisted the urge to flip them off. Jackson, however, mean mugged them into turning right back around.

“Damn, cowboy. You’re a tough one, ain’t you?” I whispered. “I think you scared a couple of high school girls.”

“I can’t fucking take you anywhere,” he said under his breath.

“You can take me anywhere.” Okay, almost everywhere. But the fucking sentiment was there.

Feeling compelled to do so, I reached over and slipped my hand in his. The way his fingers wove through mine was natural. It felt nice. Being with Jackson felt nice. And when my head wasn’t a fucked up mess, I liked how he made me feel.

I wanted more of that—even if it was just one more time.

“Hey, cowboy,” I began quietly. I gave his hand a small tug until he looked at me. Again with that sexy look on his face. “I want to go home.”

“The movie ain’t even that bad,” he scoffed. “You ain’t getting out of it.”

“If I do what I’m thinking about doing here… we’re both getting arrested,” I told him. His brows came together slightly as he searched my face for some kind of tell-all—something to make him doubt my words. Only I wasn’t doubtful. I knew what I wanted and was just hoping to hell the rest of me would keep up later on. “Let’s go home, cowboy.”