Chapter Twenty-Six. Winnie

That's it. Case Michaels is trying to murder me. He shows up at five minutes to eight with a fistful of wildflowers and wearing cowboy boots. Not manure-covered working boots. Not broken-in bull-riding boots. No. He struts in wearing shined-up cowboy boots under his dark-wash jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt that hugs his biceps and makes my heart skip directly into palpitations. He holds out the bouquet as if it's an offering, and I blink at him, completely frozen. My every molecule has seized in oh shit! levels of uncertainty.

His countenance is sheepish. "Um. I brought these for you."

I still can't move. My vision is hyper-focused on the way his tanned forearms seem to wink at me. Despite losing sensation in my limbs and apparently my brain, I can feel that sexy flicker of smooth muscle definition deep inside my soul.

"Winnie!" my sister sings. "Hello! Case brought you flowers!" Under her breath, she mutters, "I think she's glitching."

I want nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor, but he's still in front of me, waiting for my response like he's not sure if he's made a huge mistake and, God, I'm so embarrassing. "Sorry. Uh. I think I blacked out there for a sec." I clear my throat. Twice. "You brought me flowers?"

"Is that okay?" he says. "Blink once for yes. If you blink twice, I brought them for Garrett, and we can forget the last five minutes ever happened."

A snicker bubbles out of my throat. I take a deep breath and meet his glittering eyes. "And she's back," he drawls.

I reach for the stems. "Merci. I don't… I'm not sure I even have a vase!"

"We do!" Garrett shouts, producing a dusty one from under the sink. Her expression is straight gooey as she takes in Case and his chivalry.

Taking a minute to calm down, I busy myself with washing the vase and carefully trimming the stems on an angle. Then I set to arranging them perfectly and placing the entire effort in the center of our kitchen table. It's so large and our table is so small, it takes up most of the surface area, but I don't care. Later tonight, when I'm recovered from my abject humiliation, I'll bring the entire thing to Garrett's and my room, where I can gaze at it uninterrupted.

"They're beautiful, Case. I'm speechless. Obviously." I laugh, still nervous. He looks pleased and maybe a little relieved as he meets my eyes. We're suddenly locked in a staring contest spanning across my kitchen, and I would break first except: 1) I don't want to, and 2) I can't.

"Should we go?" he asks after a beat, his eyes still on mine.

"Hmm?"

He smirks. "To the party, Sutton? I'm under strict orders from the former national high school barrel-racing champion I'm supposed to, quote, ‘get the new celebrity rider to her party and show her off.'"

My eyes widen. "Me?"

A snort comes in the direction of the couch, where my dad is sitting watching some white cowboy negotiate terms between equally white and definitely offensively portrayed Native Americans on the TV.

"G'night, Winnie. Have fun," he says, not bothering to shift his attention.

Case holds out a hand. "Pret?"

With this boy, I think I can be ready for anything. I put my hand in his. "Absolument."

We get in his car, and he puts on some Tim McGraw. I glance out the window at my own reflection in the setting sun as he reverses out of my driveway.

This is him trying, right? That's why this feels different. Not that he's trying too hard. Just maybe a little nicer? A little more planned? I smooth my hands down my jeans. Is this a date?

"I should have told you right away… you look really good, Win," Case says. And the nickname makes me flush head to toe. Get a grip, Winnie. It's not the first time he's called you that.

But never like this. Not in that low, grumbly way that makes him sound like he just woke up. And then he's dragging his gaze extra slowly from my curve-hugging boot-cut jeans and cropped snow-white tank top. I stick my hands under my thighs to keep from covering the tiny slice of exposed midriff. They're not the fanciest duds, but I was going for "casually hot." Garrett's words, not mine.

Again. Why are my siblings better at this than I am?

God. What if they aren't? Who takes fashion advice from a ten-year-old Mensa candidate?

Oh, for fuck's sake. Case thinks it's hot. Clearly. He can barely keep his eyes on the road. He brought you flowers and he's wearing cowboy boots and he's playing your favorite songs. You're not this much of an idiot. Buck up, Sutton.

"Pull over, please," I command, concentrating on keeping the breathlessness out of my voice.

Case doesn't hesitate, turning down the next dirt road and pulling off onto a wide gravel shoulder.

He spins to me in his seat, the low, evening sunlight painting his handsome face. "Are you okay? Did I freak you out? Was it the flow—"

I'm already flinging off my seat belt and lunging across the center console, cutting him off with my lips.

It's probably not pretty, but I make up for it with enthusiasm and, I don't know, graceless horniness? This boy has flipped me inside out these past months, and all I want to do is kiss him until he knows exactly what that feels like. What he's done to me. I want to steal the breath from his lungs and inject fire into his veins. I want to disintegrate into him. I want our atoms to smash together until there's nothing left but Us—capital U.

Case grips me tighter, his tongue slipping past my willing lips and twisting with mine in a way that's anything but graceless. It's intoxicating and stokes something inside of me that leaves me frustrated at the distance between us. He must be, too, because suddenly he's dragging me across his lap and into the driver's seat.

Okay, then.

I straddle him, and his fingers trace my sides, up, up, nearly there, to where I long for his hands to find me before maddeningly sliding back down and pressing against that expanse of bare skin at the small of my back. There's not a whole lot of room to maneuver between his lap and the steering wheel, and that's probably for the best. Just enough space to press my body against him and lose myself in his taste and the feel of him, strong and solid beneath me. In his small panting breaths against my lips. In the ache low in my belly.

Eventually, he pulls back, brushing my hair off my forehead.

"I'm sorry," I whisper once my breathing calms to normal levels.

He chuckles low, and it tickles against my throat before he drops his head to my collarbone and takes several breaths.

Finally, he straightens so his eyes are level with mine. "Are you really sorry?"

I shake my head. "Not really. That was a lie. Unless you are…"

"I'm definitely not," he says. "I've wanted to do that for months."

It's my turn to be surprised. "You have?" I squeak.

His hands gently lift me off his lap and nudge me back to my seat.

"I can't concentrate with you, um… It's…" His chin sinks to his chest again, and he closes his eyes, taking more breaths. I crack open a couple of windows, and he laughs.

"Good idea. I need more oxygen in my brain."

I squirm a little in my seat and take a deep breath. "Me, too."

"You kissed me," he says.

"I did," I confirm. "You're sure it was okay? I kinda attacked you."

He turns his head to look at me. "You kinda did. I've been killing myself trying to come up with smooth ways to orchestrate a move, and you…" He trails off, smiling and shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. "That was probably the single hottest thing that's ever happened to me in my entire life. So yeah. Plenty okay. Feel free to do it again whenever the mood strikes."

"Just to confirm," I say, before I lose my courage. "Did you see that as a ‘friends kiss' or, like, more?"

He quirks a brow. "What did you see that as?"

I lick my lips, and he watches the movement. I hold back my smirk. "I don't kiss my friends like that."

"I've never kissed anyone like that, for the record," he assures me with an adorably earnest expression. "But my feelings are definitely in the ‘more than friends' territory. I'd classify them as pining? Pax calls it my ‘puppy dog devotion.' Whatever you want to go with."

I press forward again, taking his face in my hand and kissing him soundly to shut him up. After losing ourselves for several more minutes, I slip back into my seat, turning my head toward him, laying it back on the headrest.

"I don't want to take away from our friendship, because you're the realest friend I've ever had."

He tips his head toward me, against his own seat. "Okay."

My stomach clenches at what I am about to say—what it will reveal. Case's face is openly curious save for the little crinkle between his brows. The one that tells me he's listening intently and committing himself all over again.

Over and over. He's been so determined to be there. He's winning me over, and that scares the living shit out of me. Six months ago, I would have never believed it possible. "And I feel like I've come to seriously depend on you. More than anyone else in my life, even."

He doesn't flinch. "You're mine, and I'm yours."

"We belong to each other," I say. "Equal partners." Rolling the words around on my tongue and testing them against the thumping of my heart.

"Is that okay? I mean, for simplicity's sake, you can call me your boyfriend. If you want."

"And you'll call me your girlfriend?"

"Every chance I get."

"I have something to tell you."

"Yes, fine, we can go back to your obnoxious car and make out some more."

Case chokes on the sip he was in the middle of swallowing, coughing and sputtering his drink down his front. Thankfully, we're sitting outside and away from anything expensive, unless you count, oh, Maria's entire house. Are all my friends rich?

"You're trouble."

"Sorry," I apologize and half-heartedly wipe at his front, trying not to be distracted by how warm and firm he feels under his T-shirt. "What were you going to say? I can be serious."

"Can you?" he jokes. His eyes drift down to where I'm still feeling him up. I pull my hand back and grip it around a lukewarm beer bottle. Turns out, I don't like the taste of beer. I sort of wish Maria had been talking about water or lemonade.

It also turns out while I do like Maria and obviously, I'm crazy about Case, I prefer horses to people. Shocking, I know. I tried. I spent the first hour inside with the air-conditioning and the music and all the people draped over all the furniture talking about all the things and making all the moves, and I thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding my awkwardness until Case held out his hand and dragged me outside to this little patio area. The table was taken by people playing a drinking game, but we've claimed a cozy corner of the waist-high brick wall.

I don't hate it. The temperature has cooled to somewhere around bearable, and I don't have to shout small talk at anyone. I put down my bottle with a clink on the wall and turn to face Case. "Okay, you have my full attention, and I will refrain from touching you for at least the next five minutes. Go."

His eyes light with amusement, and he takes a deep breath before pulling out his phone. "Okay, so you know how I wasn't sure about the Pbr."

"I do know, yes."

"Well," he says, lowering his voice. "I'm not going to the Pbr. I'm going to college."

I can feel my jaw drop open and wildly gesture for his phone. "Did you apply already?"

He nods, showing me an email. "And was accepted."

My eyes race across the screen, snagging on a few words halfway. Raising my hands to my lips, I look up at him, blinking through watery eyes.

"Case." My tone is soft. "Nursing?"

He shifts his feet, lifting his shoulder in a shrug and tucking his free hand in a pocket. "Yeah. Well, I was thinking I could work in pediatrics."

"God." I sniff, swiping under my eyes. "You would be so good at that. Taking care of kids, helping them feel less miserable or alone in the hospital? Case—" I shake my head in wonder. "This is brilliant. I don't have words. I'm so proud of you." Then I smack his shoulder. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Always the good sport, he makes a show of rubbing at his shoulder. "I wasn't sure if you'd think it was stupid. I mean, I haven't lost a rodeo this summer, and everyone assumes I'm headed to the Pbr, including my dad and my coach. On paper, it makes the most sense."

"But in your heart"—I hold up the screen—"this makes the most sense."

He shrugs again, and my chest squeezes. He seems so unsure of himself, even though I know his mind is set. "Yeah."

"Yeah," I agree.

"You don't think this is a massive mistake?"

"Absolutely not."

"And you're okay with me leaving for college? It's close enough to come home on the weekends, and I promise I can still come and help with Garrett if you ever need me…"

I hold back my sigh. My family already holds me back; it doesn't need to hold him back, too. "Case. This is important. This is your life. Of course I'm okay with it. I'm over the moon for you! Have you once told me I should stay back from touring so I can be closer to you?"

"I would be furious if you did."

I wave my hand. "There you go. If you don't go to college and fulfill your dreams of helping sick kids, I will be furious with you."

"Unflinching."

"Unflinching," I repeat and press my lips to his.