Page 15 of Destry

I arched my brow. “Who said I drink bourbon?

“I did, so you’re drinking bourbon.”

Hank chuckled and poured the drink, sliding the glass in front of me.

I narrowed my eyes, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around the glass and took a sip and the burn rolled down my throat smoothly.

Destry watched me with amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Something funny?” I asked.

He shook his head, taking a drink of his beer. “Just enjoying the view.”

“You’re arrogant.”

“And it turns you on,” he drawled, leaning in just enough for his voice to be felt. “You’re drinking bourbon with me at my bar.”

“It’s not your bar.”

“I got your pretty ass here. I feel like I own the gotdamn world.”

He wasn’t wrong. Half the cowboys in this place either looked up to him or wanted to be him, and every woman in a ten-foot radius was watching us, probably wondering why I was the one sitting next to him.

I ignored them.

I took another sip and set my glass down. “So what now?”

Destry tilted his head. “Depends. You in a hurry?”

I met his gaze, wanting to say yes because this was a lot, but I didn’t. “No.”

His smirk deepened. “Good.”

For a while, we just sat there, drinking in comfortable silence. Every now and then, someone stopped by to talk to him—other riders, a few ranchers, one of the rodeo judges—but Destry never let the conversation pull him away.

Every time, his focus came right back to me. Eventually, the music changed, and a few couples drifted toward the dance floor.

Destry set his beer down, then turned to me.

“Dance with me.”

I laughed amused as hell. “Not happening.”

He arched his brow. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “Because that’s exactly what every woman in here is waiting for, you pulling her onto the dance floor.”

He looked me over. “That why you don’t wanna do it? ’Cause they’re watchin’?”

“No. I don’t want to do it because I’m not them and I don’t wanna feed your ego.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying this too much. “Having your sexy ass here with me already did that.”

I sighed, finishing my bourbon, pushing the empty glass away. “You’re a bit much.”

“You’re still sittin’ here,” he murmured.

He had a point.

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