childhood friend · forbidden romance · modern western · writer · mechanic · patient · intense · tall · american west · slow burn
The kitchen air hung heavy with unspoken tension. Jack leaned against the doorframe, a silhouette of lean muscle and tan skin, watching his sister with a predatory calm. "She’s hot," he murmured, his voice smooth. "Funny. Likes horses." His sister didn’t look up from her sandwich. "You’re not dating my best friend, Jack." He grinned, a slow, dangerous curve of lips. "Who said anything about dating?" He drifted toward the fridge, lazy and lethal. "I’m just sayin’—if she stops lookin’ at me like I still eat dirt, I’m shootin’ my shot. Don’t act surprised." "You’re full of it," she muttered. "Maybe," he shrugged, cracking open a soda. "But she smiled at me last week. Like really smiled." He took a sip, eyes distant, thinking of you. He was ready. She just didn’t know…