Page 22 of Bull Rush

“Nothing worth noting,” Marlowe answers, keen to change the subject.

“Thanks.” I smile at my brother as he hands me my drink. He nods and then turns to head back to where he came from.

“Who’s watching Ford?” I ask Bristol. He’s getting older, but not quite old enough to stay on his own. Especially since he’s always been a wild child—much to Anson’s dismay.

“He’s staying the night at Mom’s with a friend of his. They’re doing some board game thing, so he shouldn’t give her too much trouble. He knows she can’t handle a lot of noise, but I should probably head out early.”

“Okay, but first, dancing!” Dakota downs her whiskey. “With you girls because I have zero tolerance for men and their bullshit tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.” Marlowe grins.

As the clockturns back over to the single digits, and I’ve had more than my fair share of dancing and drinks, I stand and immediately realize I’m not driving home. And it’s way too far to walk. I plop back down in the seat, and Dakota giggles at the flop I make.

“I can get Jasper to drive us home.” Marlowe volunteers her brother. For the three of them who live in town, it’s a quick trip, but I hate to ask Jasper to come all the way here and then drive me all the way out to my ranch. I could ask one of my brothers. Anson’s already here after all, but he also gets up early in the morning. Which leads me to the one person who has nothing better to do.

Your wife is drunk and needs a ride home.

It takes him a minute to respond, but I see the dots slowly come to life on the screen.

Ramsey:

Claiming that title now?

At this hour, yes.

You and the girls didn’t plan for this?

I could walk or I can ask one of these nice gentlemen at the bar.

One of these cowboys has been lookin’ at me all night like he might let me have a ride anyway.

I grin at my phone watching as the dots appear immediately.

Ramsey:

Fuck no.

You stay right there with Dakota. I’m coming.

Yes, sir.

When he pulls upto the curb in his truck and opens the door, I climb in. He looks over my appearance and smirks. I have a short skirt on, and I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on my legs.

“What?” I ask defensively, but he just shakes his head dismissively and looks back to the road.

“Out dancing?”

“Yes. I needed some fun after this week.”

There’s a mumbled mhmm on his part but nothing more. Suspicious given how much he likes to take shots. I risk a glance over at him. He has on a worn old white T-shirt that’s two sizestoo small from the number of times it’s been washed, and it’s currently hugging every curve of his chest and biceps. It’s like arm porn with the tattoos, and the tight way the cuff hugs his muscles, and the veins and tendons rise and fall as he moves his arm. When his hand wraps around the gear shift, I start to lick my lips before I realize what’s happening.

Get it together, Hazel. He’s an asshole. Don’t touch.

I manage to tear my eyes away, and I lean my head on the window. I should keep my eyes on the road too. It’s the only safe place to look in this truck.

I’m onlyhalf awake by the time we pull up into the lot by the barn. He has to park here because some of the guests’ cars are blocking the main drive up to the house, but I’m not looking forward to the walk over the gravel in the heels I have on.

I’ve got my feet braced up against the door to take them off as he opens it, and I nearly tumble out. His brow raises at me, and then he realizes what I’m doing, his eyes falling to where I’m slipping the second heel off. He reaches out a hand as I step down from the truck, and I take it reluctantly.

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