Finn was always a wreck before competitions.

He wished that he could have been smooth and suave as he walked into Westerner Park, throwing roses to adoring fans and kissing babies. Instead, Finn only wished fervently that he hadn't eaten those eggs for breakfast. His stomach rolled unpleasantly.

Finn pushed his way through the hubbub of stablehands and horses, searching for a familiar blond head. He nodded at several people as he passed. Everyone knew everyone on the rodeo circuit; he'd been competing against the same group of riders since they were eleven, and not much had changed.

He waved at Miguel, who was sitting on top of a horse, wearing a black baseball cap that read Espana. It would have looked stupid on anybody else, Finn reflected wryly, but Miguel actually was from Spain, so he managed to get away with it.

Next to him, the Australian competitor — Sam — was feeding his horse an apple. He waved a tanned hand cheerfully as Finn passed.

"Beers later, yeah, mate?"

"Your treat," Finn called back, and Sam grinned.

Finn ducked into a barn. The scent of dust and hay rose to greet him, but it was oddly flat without the scent of vanilla. He thought of Sophia — her eyes wide with surprise, pitching drunkenly off a tin barrel — and suppressed a smile.

She'd be here today.

His stomach tightened. It had been two weeks since the incident in Southern Ireland, and they'd seen each other only a handful of times, always on the drive to Calgary. Sophia hadn't mentioned their argument, and Finn hadn't brought it up, although what she'd said that day still bothered him.

Do you think any of my ex-boyfriends asked me out for my sparkling personality? No. They dated me because of how I look.

Finn jumped over a fallen rake. She couldn't seriously think that, could she? Sure, Sophia was gorgeous, but she wasn't only gorgeous. She was curious and funny and elegant, and she listened to terrible music and—

"Oi! Hoag!"

He turned.

Andrew Hazelton-Scott was leaning against a wooden post, his arm draped over a curvy stablehand. Hay speckled his blond hair, and his smile was far too smug. Finn frowned. Andrew was infamous for getting with women — multiple magazines had called him "the most handsome man in the sport," although Finn personally thought those journalists needed to get their eyes checked — but really. Did he need to do it so publicly?

"Scott," Finn said shortly. "I'd say it's a pleasure, but I don't make a habit of lying."

Andrew looked amused. "Fancied losing to me again, did you?"

"It was a draw, asshole."

"Call it what you want."

Andrew brushed invisible dust off his riding boots and red jacket, stamped with the names of his sponsors in glittering golden letters. Stupid English prick, Finn thought dismissively; he wasn't playing polo in Derbyshire anymore, was he?

Finn arched an eyebrow. "Didn't they teach geography in your fancy English private school? You're in Canada, mate. For a bareback riding competition. You don't need to dress like you're taking tea with the Queen."

"Don't be silly," Andrew said. "I'd wear a morning suit for that. Unless it was an evening tea, and in that case, I'd consider tails." He kissed the top of the stablehand's head. "Where's your new girl?"

Finn froze. "Who told you?"

If Sam ratted him out, Finn would kill him. With his bare hands.

"You just did," Andrew said, his smile widening. "And judging by your expression, I'm guessing she's fit." The stablehand shot him a look, which Andrew ignored. "I look forward to meeting her later."

Finn decided right then and there that Andrew was never meeting Sophia. Under any circumstances.

"Break a leg," Finn said cheerfully. "Preferably both."

He turned to go.

Finn pushed his way to the end of the stables, ignoring the group of rodeo groupies lounging outside on a hay loft. They giggled as he passed. Finn held his breath, desperately scanning the dim room until he spotted the blond head that he was looking for. Finally.

Dustin.

The American rider was working on a horse's rigging, but he looked up as Finn approached. "Ah, Hoag." Dustin grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I may vomit."

"Typical." Dustin jerked his head toward the barn door. "How many are out there?"

"Groupies?"

"Obviously."

"Four? Maybe five?"

Dustin stopped, incredulous. "And you didn't have to stop for photos?"

Finn made a grunting noise as he picked up a bridle, passing it to Dustin. Most of the girls knew by now that he largely preferred horses to women, making exceptions only for the occasional dark-haired beauty that caught his eye.

Dustin, on the other hand, spent most of his time outside the ring signing autographs until his hands bled. He was far too nice; it was his greatest downfall. Which was ironic, considering that Finn was the Canadian.

"Did your girlfriend come with you?" Finn asked.

Dustin shook his head. "She has a family thing in Florida, so I'm solo this week." He grinned at Finn. "I hear you're finally dating someone, though."

Finn swallowed. Normally, Dustin had a calming effect on him, but he was only making Finn more anxious today. Sophia would be watching him. Sophia. It didn't matter, Finn told himself; they were friends, of a sort. That was it.

And yet.

"You want to come for a ride?" Dustin offered. "You can take Thorn." He jerked his head toward a chestnut horse. "Or we can go rig Una up."

Finn shook his head. "I promised I'd see Sophia before we go on."

"She's here?" Dustin asked. Finn nodded, and he whistled. "No wonder you're nervous. You'll do great, though. You always do."

"Thanks," Finn muttered.

"Not too great though," Dustin warned him. "I still need to beat you."

Finn smirked. "Fat chance of that."

They exchanged a few more good-natured barbs, and then Finn left in search of Sophia, feeling slightly better. He shook his head as Dustin adjusted his cowboy hat. All the novices were required to wear protective vests, but Dustin was the only novice that chose not to wear a helmet. He was either incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid.

Or maybe Dustin had just landed on his head too many times.

It was hard to say.

Finn found Sophia standing near the fairgrounds, studying a pineapple whip machine with a skeptical expression. The blonde girl standing next to her seemed to be trying to explain the frozen dessert to her, her spiky hair bobbing as she gestured.

"So it's not actually ice cream, see?" the blonde girl said. "It's frozen pineapple, but it's just blended really quickly so that it turns all frothy and—" She broke off, gasping as she caught sight of Finn. "Oh, my god."

"What?" Sophia demanded. "Who is it?" She whipped around, and then deflated slightly as she took in Finn. "Oh. I thought you'd seen a celebrity, Tabby."

"Sophia," Tabby gasped. "He is a celebrity."

Finn's mouth quirked. "Hello, sugarplum."

Sophia's eyes narrowed as he kissed her forehead. Clause 47, she mouthed, and Finn's smile widened. Tabby's eyes were the size of dinner plates.

"It's nice to meet you," Finn said. "I'm—"

"Finn Hoag," Tabby finished for him impatiently. "Yes, I know." She seemed to be sizing him up. "You're taller in real life."

"I — thanks?"

"I'm Tabby." She stuck out a hand. "Tabby Peters."

"John's daughter," Finn surmised, wincing slightly as he shook her hand. Christ, that girl had a strong grip; and that was coming from someone that rode broncos for a living. "How's he doing?"

Tabby launched into a speech about a sick horse and Ava and John being so tired that he ran a tractor into a tree, and Finn tried to listen. Truly, he did.

But he was distracted by Sophia.

She was glancing around with childlike wonder, her eyes flitting from the cotton candy stands to the throngs of children shooting water guns to the towering roller coasters. She must have never seen a fairground before, Finn realized in surprise. At least, not a rodeo one.

"What do you think?" he asked her, once Tabby had finished.

"About?"

He gestured around them. "This."

Sophia thought for a moment. "I think I'd like some pineapple whip."

"I'll get it," Tabby volunteered, and Finn didn't miss the way that she glanced between the two of them slyly. "You both stay here."

She hurried toward the stand.

Finn's stomach flipped over. He had been alone with Sophia dozens of times before, but today felt different. Something had changed between them, lately. Something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Plus, Sophia was wearing jean shorts and a cowboy hat.

Finn knew that he was a walking cliché, but his kryptonite was women in cowboy hats. Well, that and snapbacks — and Sophia looked damn good in both. Fake girlfriend, he told himself firmly. She's your fake girlfriend.

The mantra was losing its impact.

Sophia peered up at him in concern. "Hoag? You okay?"

"Hmmm?"

"You look kind of green."

"I feel sick," Finn admitted, which wasn't a lie, exactly. "I always feel sick before big events like this."

"Well, it's only eight seconds, right?"

"Not exactly," Finn said. "There are two go-rounds: one today, and one tomorrow." He stepped aside as a giggling pair of children tore past them, toting gigantic balloon animals. "The same fourteen riders compete in each round. Only the top three go through to the finals on Friday."

"So that's..." Sophia frowned; he could see her working out the math in her head. "A maximum of twenty-eight seconds?"

"Twenty-four."

"It's still less than a minute."

"Trust me," Finn muttered. "It feels a lot longer than that. Particularly when you feel like you're holding on to a suitcase handle attached to a jackhammer. But I'll be fine," he added quickly seeing the horror on Sophia's face. "Really."

He half-expected her to snap back something snarky like, As if I care. But instead, Sophia shrugged and said, "Avoid breaking your face; I need it in one piece for my pictures."

Finn sighed. How lovely.

Tabby materialized a moment later with their pineapple whips, passing one to Sophia. Finn took one look at the fluffy yellow substance and felt his stomach turn over. Shit. He was going to be sick. He really was.

"Wait!" Tabby said. "Let's get a picture of you two kissing."

Fake girlfriend, fake girlfriend, fake—

Finn froze. Wait, what?

"That's a great idea," Sophia said, handing her pineapple whip to Tabby. She looked at Finn imploringly. "You don't mind, do you?"

Finn swallowed hard. Well, no, he didn't — that was the problem.

"No," Finn said. "Of course not."

He took a step closer. He could do this, Finn thought; for god's sake, he rode broncos for a living. He had excellent control over every muscle in his body, every joint and limb; he could conquer this attraction.

He could squash it.

Sophia peered up at him through thick lashes. She smelled like vanilla and hay, an oddly enticing combination. She also had a dimple near her mouth that Finn was trying hard not to stare at. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You ready?" he murmured.

She nodded. "One kiss."

Finn leaned in.

She tasted like pineapple and lazy summer days, and he could feel the heat of her body through his hands. A pulse thundered in his veins. And even though Finn was aware that they were in a family-friendly fairground — even though he knew just how inappropriate he was being — he couldn't seem to stop kissing her.

Good god, this was addicting.

How did people stop doing this?

Tabby cleared her throat.

"Okay," Tabby said. "I think we've got the shot."

Finn felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Repeatedly. He blinked, turning to look at Sophia. She was calmly rearranging her cowboy hat, her face impassive. She stepped away from Finn, holding her hand out for the camera.

"Can I look at them?"

Finn swallowed. The heat in his body was dissipating, leaving an empty, cold void behind. His masculine pride wasn't often wounded — Finn had an older sister, after all — but the casualness of her voice stung. Sophia seemed fine.

Totally and completely fine.