Not His First Choice

Summary

On my birthday—the same day Troy hyped some "surprise" for me online—I saw a photo that afternoon.

He was on my horse. With his assistant.

His shirt hung open, red finger marks dragged across his chest.

Caption?

[First time in my life. Thanks to him.]

The comments went wild:

[Jealous of whoever touched those abs.]

[That position... damn.]

Troy liked that one.

My chest went cold.

I thought that side of him was just for me. Turns out—it could be anyone.

I washed the horse myself. Scrubbed off every trace.

Then I signed the ranch over to him.