Cowboy Christmas Blues. Maisey Yates
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“I hope so, since I’m not seventeen anymore.” She sniffed. “Also, I lost a little weight.”
He shook his head, getting out of the bed and hunting for his clothes. “You’re just not...not a woman to me.”
“Clearly I am,” she said.
“Not...not you. The person that I thought you were.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
He took a step back. “I have to go.”
“Cooper,” she said, scrambling out of bed.
“This was not what I wanted,” he returned. “It was a bad idea.”
“Why does it change anything?”
“Because I’m not here for an entanglement. And I’m certainly not here to start something with a hometown girl who, when last I saw her, wasn’t old enough to drink.”
“I don’t want to start anything with you,” she said. “I wanted to have sex with you. I wanted to...”
She couldn’t go on; it was too humiliating. Because she had fulfilled her lifelong fantasy of jumping Cooper Mason’s bones and he was actively disgusted that he had jumped hers.
She couldn’t admit it. Not to him. Not now.
Couldn’t confess that she had a crush on him as deep and enduring as the Tioga River when he looked like he would rather take a stick in the eye than even think about having sex with her again.
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