Flawless (Chestnut Springs #1) (40)

To prevent myself from saying something I’ll regret, I scald the back of my throat with hot coffee. To her credit, Summer just rolls her eyes. Which, pathetically, makes me feel better.

“You wound me!” Beau dramatically grabs at his chest. “Will you at least come out to The Railspur tonight?”

“Don’t you need to deploy again soon?” I interrupt.

“Trying to get rid of me, baby brother?” Beau winks at me, and I momentarily wonder if he knows he’s turning me into a jealous crybaby.

Summer ignores our antics. In fact, she’s been the picture of professionalism ever since that night we shared a bed. Not weird, or cool, or awkward, just . . . professional.

Over the past week, I’ve often wished she’d be a little less professional. A little more reckless.

“Rhett has an MRI at the hospital,” she says. “Then acupuncture at four. Then he has a teleconference interview. So probably not tonight.”

“You could come without him, you know?”

Summer smiles at my brother as she pushes out of her chair to stand. It’s a kind enough smile, but not a full one. Not the one I saw on her face when she cheered for me in the stands.

It’s the exact smirk that used to bug me. But now I see it in a different light—she thinks it’s a polite smile. It’s kind of the equivalent of a pat on the head.

“I could,” she agrees as she turns and walks away.

My eyes drop to her ass in her skin-tight workout pants. She might be short, but fuck me, the girl has curves in all the right places. Firm muscles. She reminds me of a gymnast in spandex.

“Let’s go, Rhett. It’s gym time.”

I groan and stand, still sore. Though I have to confess, this routine Summer has me on isn’t terrible. I feel better every day. My biggest complaint is that I’m getting professional massages rather than ones from her.

I dump the dregs of my coffee and leave the cup in the sink. Beau can fucking wash it, put that military clean streak of his to use for flirting with my babysitter right in front of me.

“Have fun.” He winks and hits me with a knowing smirk.

Dick.

I sneak my finger into my mouth and give him a big, slippery wet willy on the way past. And it’s surprisingly satisfying.





“You don’t have to stay here with me, you know.” I nudge Summer’s shoulder with mine and peer down at the glossy cooking magazine she’s flipping through.

“I know.” That’s all she says. She doesn’t elaborate or even look at me. In fact, she seems almost exasperated by me.

“You could leave and go hang out with Beau.” Even saying it out loud is petty, but that jealous streak in me has fixated on the way my brother flirts with her. He’s like that with everyone. But it bugs me when he does it with Summer.

Her lips press together, and she smirks down at the page. “I know.”

“So why are you sitting here with me?”

Her head tips up and her eyes move over to meet mine. Sitting side by side in the radiology waiting room doesn’t leave much space between us, especially if we’re going to talk without everyone else hearing every word we say. Her lips open for a moment, like she’s about to say something.

“That’s the gig.”

She says it, but it sounds like a lie to me, based on the way her lips were moving before she forced them into that line of bullshit.

She blinks rapidly and then stares back down at the magazine, that fake smirk firmly in place. “Plus, can’t have you hitting on all the nurses here. Wouldn’t be a good look.”

“Ah, yes, because I’m an uncontrollable animal.”

Her head tilts, and she shrugs. “There is a certain reputation.”

“Have you seen any proof of that in the past few weeks?” Her lips roll together in the most alluring way, but she doesn’t respond. “Imagine thinking someone doesn’t change or grow up at all in the course of a decade.”

Her eyes flit to the side.

“My dad, my brother, the entire WBRF fan base, it’s like they still see me as the twenty-something World Champion with no boundaries. Or in my family’s case, the unruly little boy who would do anything for attention.”

I scoff, frustration bubbling to the surface as I continue. “Here I am, a man in his thirties and no matter what I do, people treat me like I’m a child. Like I’m irresponsible. And worse, they treat me like I’m stupid. And my job is to grin and ignore it because why? Money? That’s how people want to see me? It’s exhausting. All I wanted to do was ride bulls and chase that high that made me feel something. That high that gave me control of my destiny for a full eight seconds. Like I held the room’s attention for a brief moment in time. And now I’m here bending over backwards to appease the masses because I’ve become some sort of household sex symbol or mascot for entire industries? I never asked for that kind of responsibility.”

I’m almost out of breath when I finish my verbal rampage. Summer is staring at me, rich chocolate eyes wide and cheeks slightly pink. When I breathe out, she breathes in, the surrounding air a silent cocoon in a busy hospital.

She says it so quietly, I almost miss it. “I don’t see you that way.”

My heart thuds against my ribs, and my eyes drop to her lush cherry lips. Such a simple statement has never meant quite so much.