Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“C’mon, Sunshine,” I say. “It’s getting dark. Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER 1
Sally
KING OF HEARTS
PRESENT DAY - NOVEMBER
Checking out the cowboy across the bar, I have one thought and one thought only—Damn, I’ve missed this.
Thick, tan, tattooed forearms rippling with muscle and crisscrossed with large veins—check.
Stetson and a pair of broken-in Wranglers, which are topped off with a clean white tee that stretches across his broad chest and shows off his enormous biceps—check.
Scruffy, obscenely handsome smirk—check.
My heart flutters when he looks up from chatting with the gorgeous blonde at his elbow and turns that smirk on me. This cowboy is the complete opposite of the serious, seriously entitled guys I went to college and veterinary school with, and I am here for it.
Maybe that’s why I’m in the middle of the longest sexual drought of my life. Up until this summer, I wasn’t hanging out with any cowboys.
The cowboys I grew up with are generous and honest to a fault. They say what they mean, and they don’t play games. They certainly don’t make you feel self-conscious, like you’re asking for too much or you’re not cute or cool enough. Having lived in a handful of different places over the course of my studies, I’ve learned how rare that kind of man is.
The cowboy across the bar holds up his first two fingers in his approximation of a wave. “Hey, Sunshine.”
I manage a smile, my face burning. “Hey, Wyatt.”
You’d think I’d be immune to my best friend’s extreme hotness by now, even though I’ve been away from Hartsville more often than not over the past decade. He and I have been friends for—goodness—over twenty years now. Wyatt Rivers should be like a brother to me.
Only the raging crush I’ve had on him since the second I hit puberty makes my feelings for him anything but fraternal.
The supermodel type beside him hanging on his every word is Exhibit A as to why I’ve never acted on those feelings. Wyatt is way, way out of my league. He was always Mr. Popularity, star of our high school baseball and football teams, while I was the nerd who played violin, had braces, and spent her free time assisting her dad, a veterinarian, with calls on ranches across the county.
Wyatt is also very much a free spirit. Or playboy, depending on who you ask.
He’d be the perfect hookup, if only he wasn’t my best friend. I don’t have time for a boyfriend; last week, I was offered my dream job in Ithaca, New York, so I’m not sticking around in Hartsville. But while I’m here, I’d like to be able to get out of my head and have some really great sex—work out some of the frustration I’ve felt lately about, well, everything.
My experience in that department has been lackluster at best.
I lost my virginity at twenty-one to my boyfriend at the time, and the sex was unexciting to say the least; I only orgasmed when I took care of it myself. He blamed me, saying he’d “be more into it” if I was adventurous and lost a few pounds.
The next guy I dated insisted I always went down on him, but he never returned the favor.
“I just don’t love it,” was his explanation, which made me feel like the grossest, unsexiest person alive.
Was my body really that much of a turn-off?
The last boyfriend I had—this was during my residency about a year ago—didn’t seem interested in having sex with me at all. When we did hook up, it was always quick and to the point. I tried to be adventurous with him—tried to incorporate more playfulness, more foreplay—but he always said he was “too tired,” thanks to the round-the-clock rigors of our program. Which I didn’t entirely understand because I was in the same program and I was tired, too, but never too tired to have sex. His lukewarm reaction made me feel pretty shitty about myself.
Years of disappointing experiences have left me feeling anxious and excruciatingly self-conscious when I’m with men. I feel like I need to constantly watch what I say, what I wear, what I eat. If I could be a little less of this, a little of more that, maybe the magic will finally happen.
It hasn’t, and now my confidence is hanging by a thread. It’s gotten to the point that I’m so self-conscious around guys I end up overthinking myself out of a great time. I try so hard to be what I think a guy wants that I can barely talk to someone, much less hit on them. I don’t enjoy sex because I’m always in my head about whether or not he’s enjoying it. At some point, I just gave up trying to date.
But now it’s been almost a full year since I’ve done anything with a member of the opposite sex, and I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. A vibrator can only get you so far. I’m legitimately worried I’ve forgotten how to kiss someone. I know I’ve forgotten how to pick someone up.