Page 4 of Rope Me In

“You didn’t answer my text,” Gavin says, clearly panicked.

“I’m driving.”

“You on your way home?”

“No.”

Gavin pauses. A heavy silence passes between us. “Everything okay?”

“I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t wait up.”

“Kade—”

I don’t let him finish. Instead, I turn my phone off and continue to the bar, shutting away the part of me that wants to keep my brother happy. Shutting away every part of me that wants to keep anyone happy. Even myself.

It’s time to feel good. Or better yet, numb.

Chapter 2

Presley

I stare at myselfin the bathroom mirror, smoothing out my platinum-blonde hair that blends into various shades of purple. A little over seven months ago, my hairdresser in the city talked me into the change, saying it would go perfect with my complexion and sleeve of black-and-gray floral tattoos that cover my left arm. She was right.

At the time, this hair made me feel more like a version of me that was brave, like a woman on the brink of something new. Like the girl I was in college who dared to dream big and be edgy. Like a woman who took risks.

Now…now, this hair just makes me stick out like a sore thumb. Paired with my tattoos, it says,Look at me! I’m different!Which isn’t great when you chose to move to a small Texas town whose population of under six thousand people could fit into asmall stadium.

I shake out the nerves in my body then look into my blue eyes staring back at me in the mirror. “You can do this, Presley. You’ve played shows all over the South! Stop being like this. This is just bartending, for crying out loud!”

I huff out a breath and try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. This is the tenth pep talk I’ve given myself in the last ten minutes, and none of them have worked. It’s silly that I feel so scared to go tend bar when only last month I was playing fiddle to a crowd of thousands. But playing fiddle and being around new people in a new town are two completely different things. Not to mention, I live here now and want to make a good first impression.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

I jump, hand flying to my chest as I remember that I’m not in the comfort of the tiny little guest house I rented three days ago on the Delgados’ ranch. I’m at my new bartending job for my first shift, the very one where I’m trying to make a good first impression.

“Everything okay in there?” a deep voice booms from outside. The voice sounds like Jake’s, the man who hired me. I believe he owns Night Hawk, but I’m not quite sure. All I know is he’s my hot boss and he’s the one who hired me with only a phone interview. Who even does that these days? I thought he’d at least want to meet me once, but nope.

“Hello?” he asks again.

Crap. I look in the mirror one more time and decide I look okay, I guess. Not that I ever think I necessarily look good, especially in uniforms. Thankfully, this one is a black T-shirt with Night Hawk’s logo on it and a black waist apron to match. I’m also wearing a pair of high-waisted dark-wash jeans that hug my very full heart-shaped butt and keep my generous stomach tucked tight, a must-have for me after the years of my ex-boyfriend and now ex-bandmate, Derek, pointing out the things he didn’t like about my body.

With a final sweep of my favorite lip gloss over my downturned lips and a deep breath, I open the door to a very concerned-looking Jake.

“You okay?” he asks, his dark chestnut eyes boring into mine from beneath the brim of a red cowboy hat. I bite the inside of my cheek. He’sgorgeous. Tall, broad, dark, and handsome. But more importantly, from my limited experience, he’s super nice, something I’m not used to anymore.

Between Derek, my band, and the years I’ve spent trying to navigate the music industry, I’ve become jaded, often assuming the people I meet are only nice to get something from me or forshow. But so far, Jake hasn’t given me a reason to believe any of those things about him. He seems genuine, a trait I’d forgotten exists.

It also helps that he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know where I’m from or that I play fiddle. He doesn’t know that my mom and I haven’t spoken in five years or that my fifteen-year-old half-sister doesn’t even know that I’m a musician. He doesn’t know that my boyfriend of five-and-a-half years cheated on me and then dumped me this past Valentine’s Day because he felt like I “no longer cared” about myself. Derek told me he wanted his girlfriend to put effort not only into her own looks but also into him and his needs.

Moreover, Jake doesn’t know that I gave up the opportunity of a lifetime four days ago, the kind of opportunity that I’ve been working toward since before I even graduated from Berklee College of Music when I was twenty-two. All those massive dreams of making it big as a fiddle player, and I’d said no.

He doesn’t know any of that—and hopefully, he never will. Because I never plan to tell him. I’m going to come here, do my job, go to my little guest house during the day, and try to figure out what the hell I plan to do with my life and music career.

Jake clears his throat, one of his dark eyebrows lifting as he continues to stare at me. That’s when I realize I still haven’t said anything.Great job, Presley. Way to make a good first impression.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I was having a slight wardrobe malfunction.”

Jake doesn’t stop his gaze from moving down my form before he looks into my eyes again. “Do you need a different uniform? I think I have more in the back.”

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