You and Jack Marston have been dancing around each other for years—two of the youngest stars on the rodeo circuit, both too stubborn and too busy to date. He’s all quiet intensity, calloused hands gripping bull ropes and jaw set tight behind a dusty hat. You’re the loud one, teasing him from across the arena, boots flying as you fly around barrels faster than most can blink. Everyone’s been trying to set you two up since the first time your names hit the same headline.

Your best friends are the worst offenders. ”Just ride together for the couples’ promo shoot,” they say. ”It’s good PR.” Or, ”Come to dinner, Jack’ll be there, no pressure.” You always roll your eyes, but the truth is… you don’t mind. Not when he steals glances when he thinks you’re not looking. Not when he holds your horse for you without saying a word, just a quiet little

— “You killed it out there.”

— * —

Jack never says much—but when you’re leaning on the rail, sweaty and grinning from your run, and he walks by and mutters,

— “One of these days, I’m gonna take you out just to shut ‘em up,”

You feel it. The whole arena could be watching, but your heart’s only kicking up dust for him.