Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

“Nah, you’re nothing like the guys,” Mr. Murphy says, his gaze sweeping over her. I narrow my eyes, fighting the urge call him out. I manage to restrain myself. Murphy is one of those old school guys who doesn’t understand that girls don’t want to be treated like sexual objects. If Nina minds, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she beams under his compliment.

“You’re going to meet a lot of guys like that,” I warn her once we’re out of ear shot. “I hope you’re ready for the attention.”

“Well, any attention I get will probably be because girls like her aren’t in the room,” she says with a laugh, nodding in front of us. I follow her gaze toward The Cowpokes and laugh when I see Nate already with the fiddle player, holding her bags while she checks in with the front desk. I have a feeling she won’t be using her room, though, if Nate gets his way.

“They have nothing on you,” I say before I even have time to think about it. I realize how forward that is, and glance at her. There’s a small smile on her face, but she says nothing about it.

We check in and take the elevator to the fourteenth floor. I realize there’s a mistake when we reach our room. It’s the one in the corner, the same one I get every single year, and I know damn well there’s only one king bed on the other side of that door. If I’d paid attention at check in, I would have recognized the damn number.

“I’m sorry, I asked them for a different room,” I say, unlocking the door. “There’s only one bed. I’ll call the front desk and see what happened.”

“It’s fine,” Nina says, following me into the room. Her eyes sweep toward the windows offering an incredible, unobstructed view of the ocean. It’s why I request this room every year. Even though I know we need to swap, I can’t help feeling disappointed we won’t wake up with this view every day. “Just request a rollaway and I’ll sleep there,” she says.

“Like hell you will.” I dial the front desk. “If we have to stay here, I’ll take the cot.”

“Front desk, how can I help you?”

I tell the girl on the other line the situation and am met with a sympathetic click of her tongue.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winters, but we’re fully booked. I don’t see a request for a double room anywhere in your notes.”

I swear under my breath, then catch Nina’s eye. She gives me a pointed look and I lighten my expression. “Okay, that’s fine. Can we just get a rollaway bed?”

“We don’t have any more available, I’m afraid,” the desk clerk says. I huff out a breath, and Nina shrugs her shoulders, then points to the couch.

“I don’t suppose you’re out of extra blankets too?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“We have plenty of those, Mr. Winters,” the clerk says with an overly cheerful voice. “Would you like me to have some delivered.”

“Yes please,” I confirm, then hang up the phone.

I make my way to the couch and sit on it, testing the cushions. It’s fine enough, I suppose, though I can see my feet will hang off the end.

“But just look at that view,” Nina says, her wide smile making me forget everything. She’s referring to the ocean, but as I watch her, I realize any room would have a great view if she’s the one in it.

Once my blankets are delivered and we’ve unpacked our bags, Nina and I set out to explore. Today’s schedule is pretty much one big social event, starting with a crowded conference room and buffet tables loaded with food. I’m happy to see Nina load her plate with some of the best barbecue she’ll ever have. It’s a major difference from her early days on the ranch, when she’d pretend she only ate like a bird. Weeks later, and she keeps up with all of us and is happier for it.

“So, this is why you like these conventions,” she says once we find a table. I nod and start to answer, but we’re joined by some other chair members who all remember who I am, but I’m terrible with names.

“This is Nina, one of my ranch hands,” I say to the guys, a trick my dad taught me long ago. Sure enough, they lead with their names. Scott. Robert. Ryeson. Bailey. All names I’ll forget in a few minutes, though I won’t forget the interested way they’re looking at Nina. She’s hyper aware of it too, with the way she keeps tucking her hair behind her flushed ear, or shifting her eyes even as she smiles. The food goes untouched, and I know she’s self-conscious.

“So which of you guys are going to win the calf roping contest tomorrow,” I ask, and all eyes are off Nina as the pissing match begins. Immediately she starts eating, and I slip an arm over the back of her chair to comfort her. But as soon as my arm is there, it’s all I can think about, even as these guys are one upping each other. Nina’s soft hair, a silvery lilac this time, brushes against my skin, sending jolts of electricity up my arm. She leans against the chair, her shoulder pressing against my arm, and she looks at me. Her soft blue eyes catch mine, and I see the smile in them, the way she welcomes my touch. It takes everything in me to tear my eyes away from her face and stay in the conversation.

“Thank you,” she says later, when the guys have finished their plates and excuse themselves. Her plate is empty, and she pushes it back with a satisfied sigh.

I don’t even have to ask to know that she’s talking about my distraction. I’m dying to tell her she doesn’t have to be self-conscious, that it’s just eating. But then I remember the way her mom treated her that night at Jordy’s parents’ house. The damage her mom has done so that she can’t even eat a fucking bite in front of people—it makes me insane. But I know that lecturing her won’t change these deep-seated wounds, so I say nothing, though I vow to be her safe space.

The rest of the evening, I keep Nina at my side. If Jordy had been here, she would have retired long ago, leaving me to the small talk and schmoozing. But Nina is going strong. After a couple drinks, she’s even more gregarious, and it’s hard to remember that she doesn’t know anyone here. I’m soon forgotten as Nina swaps stories about ranch guests and the trouble with manure, making everyone around us laugh with her stories.

And me? I’m mesmerized. She’s like a flame and I’m the moth, dancing around her and ready to get burned. Once the stories begin to wane, the bar becomes a landing strip for shot glasses. The bartender lines them up, and Nina leads the charge as we all throw back a smooth shot of Don Julio.

“Again!” Nina laughs, and I catch her as she stumbles. When she looks up at me, it’s with a sloppy grin that makes me want to kiss it off her. Fuck, I want to taste that mouth so bad. I keep my hold on her, neither one of us breaking.

The rest of the party disperses, or we just forget about them altogether as she turns in my arms, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Brayden,” she whispers, her voice lazy with tequila, but burning a hole within my chest. Holy fuck, the ache is so devastating, I can’t let go of her. I can’t look away. I can only stare in her eyes, at her mouth—her everything.

“I want to kiss you,” I murmur, my heart pounding at the confession, even as the alcohol dulls my morals.