Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(123)

“Hell no.” Marin grinned. “I didn’t say we were gonna buy them, just try them on.”


“I suppose I’d be wearing f*ck me heels too, with this imaginary slutty prom gown?”


“Naturally. And carrying a sparkly rhinestone purse big enough to fit a flask, condoms and a small handgun.”


“You are so crazy-wrong.”


“What is crazy-wrong is that you’re not goin’ to prom with pretty Paxton the bulldoggin’ stud, because you’re mooning over boring Boone.”


“Mooning. As if. We’re friends. That’s it. Besides, prom wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t there, Marin, so that’s really why I’m not going.”


“Bull. But next year we’re double dating no matter what.” A few minutes passed and Marin complained, “Why are we sitting out here? I can feel my white skin frying like bacon and more freckles popping up on my face.”


Sierra knocked her foot into Marin’s. “It’s a gorgeous day. Warm air, blue skies. No snow. One thing I miss about Arizona is soaking up the sun. So suck it up, cupcake, and sit here with me until Rielle picks me up. I do all sorts of stuff with you that I don’t want to.”


“Like what?” Marin challenged.


“Like listening to country music.”


She snorted. “I’ll admit that there are worse things we could be doin’ than watching the guys on the track team running around in shorts and tank tops.”


“Have you ever thought about going out for track?”


“Not until right this minute…omigod.” Marin peered over the tops of her sunglasses. “Who is that guy in the black shorts and white wife beater running sprints by the fence?”


Sierra didn’t even hesitate to say, “Boone,” with a sigh.


“Really? I didn’t recognize him without his thug hat and coat on. Is that why you made me come here? So we could drool over him from afar?”


Yes. “No. I’m waiting for a ride, remember?”


“Sierra—”


“Fine. I want to talk to him, okay? I’ve texted him a couple times and I haven’t heard back. And I don’t wanna come across as”—desperate—“a pest, so I hoped I’d see him.”


“What do you want to talk to him about?”


“Whether he’s coming to the branding. I’m supposed to share my McKay family history report—the stuff that didn’t make it in the actual school report—and since he helped me so much, I hope he wants to be there.”



“How’s he supposed to see you if you’re crouched down in the grass?”


Sierra’s gaze slowly tracked over Boone’s body—obviously amazing even at this distance. His skin gleaming, his muscles straining as he performed a pivot and run body conditioning exercise. The last time she’d spoken to him, he’d talked about a new strength and stamina training regimen. She’d asked tons of questions until he’d offered to demonstrate his new moves, which made her feel a little pervy, but a victorious pervy.


“Sierra?”


She said, “What?” offhandedly, keeping her eyes on Boone as he bent forward. Nice buns. But she preferred them in jeans.


“I said how is Boone supposed to notice you if you’re halfway across the damn football field?”


“He knows I’m here.”


“He does? How?” Marin demanded.


It’d sound like a lie, or at least wishful thinking, if she told Marin she knew Boone had watched her walk the entire way from the gym exit. “He, ah, waved to me.”


“Huh. I didn’t see that.” Marin stood and brushed the grass from her rear. “You sure you don’t need a ride? I could drop you off on my way home.”


“Rielle is in town so she offered to pick me up. I’ll be fine hanging out here.”


“Okay. Call me later.”


Within three minutes of Marin leaving, Boone strolled over.


Her belly did that flip, swoop, roll thing even when she acted bored.


Boone flopped beside her, stretching out on his back and groaning, “Man, I’m so f*cking whupped.”


“No, Hi, Sierra, how are you today? No, I’ve been ditching your calls because I pulled a muscle in my phone dialing finger? Just, I’m so f*cking whupped?”


“Touchy today, aren’t we?” He showered her with a handful of grass.


“Hey! That’s it. I’m leaving.” Sierra started to stand but Boone grabbed her around the waist and rolled her beside him in the grass, ignoring her yelps.


He kept his hand on her stomach, holding her in place. “Hey. If it isn’t sexy Sierra McKay. You’re looking damn fine today. Is that a new shirt? It does amazing things for your…eyes.” He aimed a quick grin her direction. “Did you do something different with your hair? The chocolate-colored tresses are so silky and shiny in the sunlight.”


“You’re a dickhead. And I’m still mad at you.”