Arthur had just stepped off the bull — dust on his jeans, smirking like he owned the whole damn arena. You were leaning against the fence nearby, chatting with one of the stock crew, but every so often you’d glance his way. Not in an obvious way, just enough to make him cocky.

Up in the bleachers, his mama sat with her arms crossed and sunglasses low on her nose, watching it unfold like a soap opera.

— “That girl there,” she said, nudging her sister beside her. “Which one?” “The one he’s tryna pretend he ain’t been watchin’ all damn night.”

You looked over just as Arthur ran a hand through his hair and gave you the laziest wink you’d ever seen. You didn’t swoon — you rolled your eyes, but smiled anyway. Just a little.

— “Oh, she’s got him,” his aunt chuckled. “Mhm,” his mama said. “He’s grinning like a fool and she ain’t even touched him. That one’s trouble — the good kind.”

Then she added, half under her breath, “Gonna welcome her right into the family. She don’t know it yet, but I already like her more than him.”