Page 71 of Holding The Reins

“Three strawberry margaritas please.” I smile at him, my fear from earlier subsiding with my buzz.

I usually stop after four or five drinks, even on a night out like this. I know my limits but tonight I feel wild, I just want to dance and forget that Nash Carter is invading my head for even five minutes. I watch him as he writes something down and hands it to the blonde. Heat floods me as I come to the conclusion that it’s got to be his phone number. What else would it be? She says something and laughs tipping her head back, then shoves the paper into her tight jean pocket. When she turns and I see her full face, I realize who she is. She’s Flirty McShows-Her-Ass from the Sage and Salt. And Nash just gave her his number?

Two hours and Lord knows how many strawberry margaritas later, the girls and I are up on the dance floor shaking our asses to the incredible country band that Nash has playing tonight. They’re pushing out all the crowd favorites and my feet would be killing me in these heels if alcohol wasn’t numbing the pain.

I’m pretending Nash Carter doesn’t exist as I dance. I need my dignity. In fact, I’m fucking desperate for it. I was so dumb to think maybe, possibly something real was happening between us. Something beyond just great sex. Miss Flirty stayed at the bar for another twenty minutes before finding a table with her friend and Nash talked to her the whole time. Just Nash being Nash, planting the seed for his next conquest.

The band starts playing Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl” and everyone goes wild. The dance floor is packed with people, and Ginger, Olivia and I move right smack to the center. We know every word, of course, so we’re singing along as we move to the music. We’re the best dancers in this place, I’m sure of it—maybe even in the world. Or is that the margaritas talking? Either way, I don’t particularly care.

We give it our all for three more songs, I can feel hands on me, no clue who’s they are but I don’t care as Ginger and I dance our hearts out to Sweet Home Alabama. Someone grips my hips from behind me again and is swaying to the music before Olivia grabs me.

“Let’s go get a drink. Your boss looks all hot and bothered.”

I turn around to see whose hands are on me, a moment of clarity coming to me. I don’t recognize the tall, blonde football player type in a cowboy hat holding my body.

Olivia pulls me away, and the man nods at me

“See you when you get back, gorgeous,” he says over the music.

I smile because sure, I’ll see him—he’s cute and I bet he doesn’t flirt with blonde waitresses.

I turn my fuzzy gaze back to the bar Olivia pulls me toward and my eyes meet Nash’s glare from across the room.

The look he’s wearing could set fire to the bar and burn it down around us.

If Brent Wilson puts his hands on her one more time, I’m going to snap his neck right in the middle of the bar. I’ve never really liked him anyway, he’s always hitting on women in here and he seems to think he’s something special because he’s the newest member of the Laurel Creek’s police force.

I have been doing nothing other than watch CeCe for the last hour and a half because for some reason tonight, she’s out of control, and the men in this bar are all over her and that slip of a dress she walked in wearing. Short and tight with long sleeves, a low-cut back and fire engine red. She’s showing more cleavage than I’ve ever seen, and all I want to do is tear it off her and push my face into those perfect tits.

“No more alcohol to CeCe,” I say to Asher as he heads off to a table.

He nods and continues on.

Just as I see that mother fucker touch her again, I lock eyes with Olivia and she knows I’m fucking pissed. I start to walk over but I see Olivia pull CeCe away from handsy so I stop and let them come to me. Logically, I know I have no claim on CeCe. I have no right to be mad but I am fucking mad, and right now, I don’t give a fuck who knows it.

Olivia pulls CeCe to the bar just as a mini fight breaks out on the other side of it. I grab one of the guys involved as Victor grabs hold of the other and we take their drunk asses outside and kick them to the curb.

When I get back in, CeCe is still at the bar with Olivia. Just as I approach, Margaret, my newest bartender, passes CeCe a shot of something. Handsy spots her and starts to walk toward her.

That is fucking it. The straw just broke the camel’s back. I grab CeCe’s elbow and I’m pulling her through the crowd. She stumbles as I drag her ass through the hallway, shoving her into my office, and I slam the door behind her.

“What the hell, part-time cowboy?” She’s drunk, but still fucking sexy as all hell.

“You’re cut off and I’m taking you home.”

“Oh… right, it’s bar Nash tonight. Is the big bad bartender angry? Am I here for you to punish me with expensive drinks and cheap wings?” CeCe laughs. This fucking woman. “You have no right to take me home, Nash Carter,” she slurs.

“Like hell I don’t.”

“Why don’t you take Flirty McShows-Her-Ass home? You know you’re gonna eventually.” She laughs as she says it, and I’m fucking baffled as to what she is even talking about.

She’s still laughing as she goes to raise her shot in the air that is miraculously still in her hand and hasn’t spilled all over the floor.

“To hot men and flirty blondes with great asses!” CeCe calls in a drunken toast.

I try to grab it from her so she won’t drink it but she is a quick little thing.

“Give me the shot, Rae, you really don’t need it.”

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