Eluna’s P.O.V.
By the time I shoved open the door to my apartment, I felt like I had aged a decade.
Two. Freaking. Hours.
I still had to work two freaking hours after he left. Two hours of pouring wine and clearing plates, smiling at guests like my insides weren’t doing full cartwheels every five seconds. Because even now, long after the hot, frustrating, impossibly distracting cowboy had swaggered out of T&T, he was still branded into the front of my thoughts.
Jackson freaking Hart.
And don’t even get me started on the fact that I now knew he was a world-famous country singer. As if the universe hadn’t already laughed hard enough at me. Nope. My one true mate couldn’t just be a normal guy who worked with his hands or owned a dog rescue or something. Nope. I got the cowboy with the
