Sophia was not fine.

She felt shaky as they settled in their seats. It was the heat, Sophia told herself firmly; the stadium was packed, and even in the chilly November air, she was just a little too warm. That's all it was.

It definitely wasn't that kiss with Finn.

Absolutely not.

She shoved a spoonful of pineapple whip into her mouth, trying not to think about the fact that Finn had tasted like mint when she kissed him. Mint and pineapples. It was a damn good combination.

Fake boyfriend, Sophia told herself firmly. He's my fake boyfriend.

"Oh, look!" Tabby said, gesturing toward the arena below them. "The first rider is about to go out. Miguel."

"Where?"

Sophia seized on the distraction gratefully, following Tabby's finger to a chute on their left. A cowboy dressed in black was climbing into the chute. She winced as the horse bucked, slamming against the metal bars.

"At least he's wearing a helmet," she murmured.

"I know," Tabby sighed. "It's so disappointing; I wish we could see his face. Apparently he's gorgeous."

Sophia stiffened as the commentator began the countdown. Miguel gave a quick nod, and then the chute opened. The horse charged out like a firecracker shot from a cannon, twisting and turning with a vengeance. Sophia didn't realize how hard she was gripping her plastic spoon until it snapped.

The buzzer went off. Eight seconds.

Miguel threw himself off the bucking horse and on to the back of a second horse, riding out to cheers and applause. Tabby shrugged.

"Not bad," Tabby said. "I reckon that's a solid eighty-eight."

Sophia stared at her. "That was only an eighty-eight?"

"Maybe an eighty-six."

"He could have died!"

"Oh, Miguel got off easy," Tabby said, flapping a hand. "He drew a calm horse. I bet he's furious about that, actually." She grinned. "You know, they say you can tell how good a guy is in bed by how he rides."

Sophia blinked, thrown by the change in subject. "Really?"

"Yup." Tabby pointed her plastic spoon at the arena. "Take Miguel, for example. All technique and no passion."

Sophia looked at where a rider in a red coat was adjusting his helmet. His black boots were so shiny that Sophia was almost blinded by them, even all the way up in the stands. She pointed him out to Tabby.

"What about him?"

"Oh, Andrew?" Tabby waggled her eyebrows. "He'd be arrogant. Domineering."

"Dustin?" Sophia asked curiously, remembering the American rider that Finn had mentioned the other day. Tabby grinned.

"Impulsive," she said. "A little sloppy."

"And Finn?"

The words were out of Sophia's mouth before she could cram them back in. Tabby gave her an odd look. "You haven't slept with him yet?"

"Of course I have," Sophia lied. "I'm seeing if your theory holds up."

Thankfully, Tabby accepted this. She scanned the arena, her eyes landing on Finn, who was leaning against the wooden posts with a blank expression. She pursed her lips. "He rides with such control. It makes you wonder what it would take to make him lose it."

To her horror, Sophia felt her cheeks colour.

"Well?" Tabby asked. "How'd I do?"

"I..." Sophia swallowed. "Well, I—"

Mercifully, Andrew took that moment to charge out of the gate, capturing Tabby's attention. Sophia winced as the horse gave a whinny of pure rage. She was amazed that Andrew's arm hadn't ripped out of its socket.

Once again, the buzzer went off.

"A ninety-two," Tabby mused. "Maybe a ninety-three, if the judges are feeling generous."

Sophia studied Andrew's red coat as he rode out of the arena, waving triumphantly at his screaming fans. "He doesn't look like a cowboy."

"He isn't, really," Tabby said, shrugging. "He used to be the best polo player in Europe, but he gave it all up to join the rodeo. Apparently he did it to piss off his poor parents." She paused. "Not literally poor, of course; Andrew is set to inherit half of England."

Sophia watched as a group of girls clamored around him, wielding pens with the ferocity of small, angry swords. "No wonder he has so many fans."

"Just the female variety."

"Oh?"

"Most of the other riders don't like him." Tabby glanced around, dropping her voice. "There were rumours a few years ago that he was stuffing burrs under the flank strap of his horse." Seeing Sophia's blank look, she added, "It rubs the skin raw. Makes the animal kick higher."

Sophia shuddered. "That's horrible."

"It's also illegal."

"Why didn't they kick him out?"

Tabby shrugged. "They couldn't prove anything."

"Well," Sophia muttered, "I hope he gets trampled by a horse next time."

Dustin rode next, followed by a rider from Texas that Tabby couldn't identify. Two more Canadian riders went next — both of whom were thrown — and then finally it was Finn. Sophia watched as he climbed over the edge of the chute, her throat dry.

Please don't get thrown, she thought. Please stay on the horse.

Finn swung one leg into the chute. The horse slammed against the metal bars, almost crushing his calf, and Finn leapt back quickly.

"I can't watch." Sophia buried her head in her hands. "Tell me when it's over."

"He'll be fine, Soph."

"What if he loses an arm?"

Tabby shrugged. "At least he's got the other one, right?"

Sophia peeked through her fingers. Finn was sitting on the horse now, running a length of rope through his hands. Why the hell he was doing that, she had no idea — but it was causing her more anxiety.

Finn squared his shoulders. Then he nodded. He shouted something, and Sophia couldn't make out the words, but she knew what they were.

Let's go.

The chute sprang open. Sophia's heartbeat tripled as the horse flailed madly, shooting around the arena like a possessed jack-in-the-box. Finn's body was calm. He seemed to anticipate the horse's actions, moving his hips in time with the bucking.

Sophia glanced at the clock. Three seconds to go.

The horse thrashed in the air.

Two.

Finn slipped forward slightly.

One.

The buzzer sounded. Sophia let out a harsh breath, loosening her grip on the plastic spoon. Tabby slurped up the rest of her pineapple whip.

"A ninety-one, I think," Tabby said. "Not bad, except for the bit at the end."

Sophia bit her lip. Not good enough to beat Andrew, then, but she didn't care; she was just relieved that Finn was still in one piece.

For the photos.

She didn't care beyond that, of course.

Tabby's predictions turned out to be spot-on: Andrew finished first with a ninety-two, and Finn came in second with a ninety. Dustin tied with a rider from Utah for third place, cheerfully waving at the crowd as he rode a lap around the arena.

Sophia and Tabby met Finn at the edge of the fairground. It was growing dark now, and the lights of the Ferris wheel looked like dozens of tiny yellow stars. Neon signs advertising popcorn and mini donuts blinked their sleepy eyes. Finn looked wistfully at a child's funnel cake, and Sophia grinned as she approached.

"Planning to steal it?" she asked.

Finn shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was just admiring it."

"So you claim."

"Well, he deserves it after that performance," Tabby said. "Congrats on the silver, by the way."

"Thanks," Finn said.

He didn't look all that excited though, and Sophia wondered if losing to Andrew had been more of a blow to his pride than she realized. Tabby, however, was too busy squinting at her phone to notice.

"Ah, damn," Tabby muttered. "Leo's looking for me, and my phone's about to die." She glanced up at Finn. "Can you give Soph a lift home?"

Sophia balked. "I'm sure that's not—"

"Of course," Finn said. "You don't mind, do you, babycakes?"

He smirked at her, and Sophia scowled. She was going to print a new version of their contract and bold Clause 47. And maybe underline it, too.

"Sure," she said. "Why not?"

Twenty minutes later, they were strolling across the parking lot, weaving around trucks and tailgate parties. Girls in daisy dukes and cowboy boots swayed to country music, waving around bottles of beer. Sophia personally thought it was a miracle that they hadn't contracted hypothermia yet.

She shivered, glancing at the overcast sky. "Is it always like this in November?"

"No," Finn said. "Usually, it's colder."

"Is that even possible?"

"Trust me, Toronto," Finn sighed, pulling out his car keys. "My mom used to make me wear snowpants under my Halloween costume; you haven't seen anything yet."

They were just rounding the corner to the truck when Sophia saw it.

Saw him.

She froze, her heartbeat accelerating. He was wearing a white cowboy hat instead of a baseball cap, but it was definitely him: the man from the café. He was drinking a beer, leaning casually against the tailgate of a green truck. A truck, Sophia realized, that was parked right next to their own.

"Toronto?" Finn frowned. "You okay?"

She licked her lips. "Yeah. Fine."

There was no point in worrying him. She hurried forward, tugging her hat lower over her eyes. If she could just make it to the truck— if she could avoid a scene—

A hand slapped her bum.

She spun around.

"It is you," Cowboy Hat said, grinning. "I'd recognize that ass anywhere."

He crossed his arms, looking pleased with himself. The smell of cheap beer and cigarettes clung to his clothes, and his blue shirt was buttoned incorrectly. She swallowed, pulling open the truck door, and his hand shot out.

"Hey! Not so fast."

Panic spiked through her. "Let go of me."

"Why don't you join us?" He jerked his head towards four guys, all equally drunk and wearing shit-eating grins. "You look like you could use it."

She tugged her arm back. "Let go."

"Is there a problem here?"

Finn stepped out from behind the car. His face was all sharp angles and shadows in the glow of the taillight, and his voice was deceptively soft. Honey over glass. His eyes flicked over the scene — cheap beer, drunk men, and Sophia, struggling towards the car — and his gaze darkened.

Then Finn took in the man holding Sophia's wrist.

His face darkened. "You."

"Ah," Cowboy Hat drawled. "The boyfriend."

Finn took a step forward. "It seems I wasn't clear enough before. Let go of my girlfriend, or I'll knock out your teeth."

His voice was pleasant, but his hands were balled into fists. Sophia swallowed. She'd seen Finn look many ways before — amused, exasperated, sleepy — but she'd never seen him like this. He looked furious.

No.

Murderous.

Cowboy Hat scoffed. "You're not going to hit me."

"You know," Finn said tightly, "your sense of self-preservation needs work."

"Try it. I dare you."

"Hoag," Sophia said. "Let's just go."

She yanked her arm free. Several boys jeered, but she ignored them, gripping the handle of the truck. Finn hesitated, his fists white-knuckled.

"Finn," she said.

His lips thinned. Finn's eyes darted to the stranger, as if he was imagining repeatedly running him over with the truck. Then he fished out his keys, moving stiffly towards the driver's seat. Sophia let out a breath. Thank God. She stepped up on the running board, preparing to climb into the truck.

A hand squeezed her ass.

"Perky," Cowboy Hat murmured. "Just like I imagined."

Several of the boys laughed. Sophia spun. And too late, she realized that Finn was still standing there, the blood draining from his face.

"You bastard," Finn growled.

He strode forward, rolling up his sleeves. Sophia scrambled down from the seat, shouting out a warning, but it did no good; Finn's hand flew back. Then his fist collided with the man's face in a sickening crack.