What if he says no?
She’d survive. Maybe cry. Big deal.
“Brad,” she began. Sweat slicked her palms as sickness churned in her stomach. How should she do this?
Do you know what my shirt is made of? Girlfriend material.
I’d rather die.
I don’t have a library card, but do you mind if I check you out?
I’d rather die twice.
“Well,” she said, rubbing at her ears. With Jase here, she’d forgotten how badly they’d been bothering her.
“In your text,” he said, “you mentioned you had something important to ask me.”
“That’s true. I do.” Open your mouth. Create words. “Brad, would you like to go out with me?”
*
JASE PACED JUST outside the Rhinestone Cowgirl. He should go home. He had a crap-ton of work to do. He felt as if he was being watched, his neck practically burning with an increase of tingles, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Brook Lynn was currently in an enclosed space with another guy. Alone. Jase didn’t like that—even though he had no right to dislike it—and things just got worse.
He was boss; she was employee. He’d made sure she understood that.
He still didn’t like it.
The girl was chipping away at his armor, and she had no idea she was doing it. No idea that every smile, every joke, every touch between them destroyed a very necessary layer of his protection.
Hell. The armor was already close to disintegrating, wasn’t it?
And now this other man wanted her. That much was obvious. The adoration in his eyes had been sickening. And, if Jase had to guess, the feeling was definitely mutual. Brook Lynn had brightened when she’d spied him.
His hands fisted, the bones aching. He wanted to stomp back inside that store and kick Brad out on his ass. But of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t. It would be considered assault. Worse, Brook Lynn might not appreciate his helpfulness.
Nothing but disaster awaited him here.
He picked up the faint sound of footsteps, coming in behind him, approaching fast. Tensing at the possibility of a threat, Jase spun.
An older man dressed in overalls paused to give Jase the stink eye. “What are you doin’ loitering outside Ms. Edna’s shop, boy?”
Jase breathed, his heart rate slowing. “I’m...thinking.”
“Do yourself a favor. Go inside and buy your girl a fine piece of jewelry.”
Not what he’d expected the guy to say. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Guy?”
“No.”
“Single, then.” The old man looked at the shop door then back at Jase. He shuffled closer and held out his hand. “I’m Virgil Porter of Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, cockroaches, bees, ants, mice and rats. You must be one of them city boys who moved here with Lincoln. And I know. Everyone calls him West, but that’s his last name, gosh dern it, and I ain’t calling no one I’ve shaken hands with by his last name. It’s rude is what it is.”
“I’m Jase. And I assure you, that’s my first name.” Unlike with Brad, he didn’t contemplate breaking every bone in Virgil’s hand.
“You pinin’ for our Brook Lynn, then?”
Yes. No. Damn it. He didn’t know what was going on inside him.
Last night he’d wanted to kiss her more than he’d wanted to live free. Something about her called to him. Her delicacy, maybe. All he wanted to do was protect her. Or her stubbornness, perhaps. She did what she thought was right, refusing to back down. Or her wit, even. She’d taken his list and turned it against him.
He smiled despite The Great Hemorrhoid debacle.
“Yes, sir,” Virgil said with a nod. He patted Jase on the shoulder. “You ain’t the first, son, that’s for sure.”
How many others were there? Yes, a man would be a fool not to recognize Brook Lynn’s appeal, but Jase didn’t like the thought of other men desiring what belonged to—
Not me. Never me.
Maybe Brad.