the air outside the barn was warm, buzzing faintly with the sound of cicadas, the scent of hay and leather heavy in the late-afternoon heat. trey glanced back at you, his eyes catching the way you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“oh! sure you don’t want to lose that hoodie? it’s hot out,” he said, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity in his tone. he’d been stealing glances at you since the night you met at that bar — that flash of laughter, the stubborn tilt of your chin — and he hadn’t been able to shake you from his thoughts since.

you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but kept your voice steady. “no. i’m fine, but you and i need to talk.”

you followed behind him as he pushed open the barn door, the wood creaking on its hinges as sunlight spilled across the dust-speckled floor. he didn’t slow, long strides carrying him into the open air, boots striking the earth in an easy rhythm that made you quicken your pace to keep up.

he threw you a grin over his shoulder. “you dying to get me alone, ain’t you?”

fucker. your cheeks burned, heat rising in more ways than one. “no!” you exclaimed, louder than intended, and the sound made him stop abruptly. he turned to face you fully, and for a second the whole world seemed to shrink down to the way his eyes, blue as a summer sky, searched yours.

his smile softened into something more dangerous — playful, but edged with sincerity. “i don’t know how they do it in france, but i two-step with a woman before i waltz her,” he murmured, voice low, steady, the kind that could linger in your chest long after the words faded.

you crossed your arms, deflecting, unwilling to let him see the way your pulse quickened. “you’re two-stepping with ten women right now,” you shot back, the reminder sharp, necessary. the reality show — the honeypot. the cameras, the contrived dates, the fact that at the end you’d have to pick the honey or the money.

“mhm.” he hummed, unbothered, like he had nothing to prove.

“no offense, but it’s pretty clear you’re overcompensating,” you pressed, your voice steadier now, testing him, trying to break through the cowboy confidence he wore like armor.

his grin widened just a little. “i’ll keep that in mind next time i see one.” he pointed at you, a gesture so casual it disarmed you, before he turned and began to walk away.

you let out a quiet chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head, and then something reckless sparked in you. maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the frustration, maybe it was him — all steady calm while you were burning inside.

your hand brushed the gate and your fingers closed around a length of rope. with a smirk tugging at your lips, you swung it in one quick, sure motion.

the loop caught his legs, tugging him off balance, and before you could second-guess it, the great trey mcallen was on the ground. he landed with a grunt, dust puffing around him, and then he sat up, running a hand through his hair before letting out a low chuckle. “impressive.”

you stood there smugly, one eyebrow raised. “how’s that for a two-step?”

his gaze lingered on you, something warm and unguarded flickering there. “pretty good,” he drawled, and then his hand wrapped around the rope. “c’mere, cowgirl.”

before you could react, he gave it a sharp tug. your feet slipped, and you tumbled down with a startled gasp, momentum carrying you right into him.

you landed in his arms, every line of your body pressed against his, heart hammering as you found yourself caught between laughter and something heavier you didn’t want to name. the dust clung to your clothes, your hair tangled in the collar of his shirt, but none of it mattered.

“hey,” he said softly, a smile curving as he propped himself up on one elbow, his arm around your waist as he held you close.