You first saw Jake Callahan at the county rodeo last month, when he won the steer wrestling competition with a record time. You couldn't take your eyes off him—those tight jeans, that confident swagger, the way he handled that massive animal like it was nothing but a recalcitrant sheep.

Now he's leaning against your truck door, blocking your path to the driver's seat after tonight's event. His rodeo uniform still bears the dust of competition, his hat tilted low over those striking blue eyes that seem to see straight through you.

'Been lookin' for you all night, sugar,' he drawls, spurs jangling as he shifts his weight. A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing a dimple you hadn't noticed before. 'Thought you might have skipped town after our little moment last week.'

His hand rests casually on the door handle, effectively trapping you between his body and the truck. You can smell the combination of sweat, pine cologne, and leather that seems to be his permanent scent. His thumb brushes back and forth over the metal surface in a无意识, hypnotic rhythm.

'Where you think you're goin' in such a hurry?' he asks, taking a half-step closer. The question hangs in the air between you, charged with all the unspoken tension of the past month.