Page 14 of Rough Ride

“In this weather? Hard pass.”

“No kidding.”

I slipped out of my heavy coat inside Billy Bob’s and got my bar assignment from Jessica, the manager. It was a different bar than last night, closer to the pool tables, but I still expected my cowboy admirers to find me. They seemed persistent. I was already brainstorming the best way to deflect their advances without sounding like too much of a bitch.

The honky tonk was absolutely packed to the brim tonight; I had to squeeze through the crowd of customers just to reach my bar, and as soon as I joined the other bartender there and clocked-in at the register, I was bombarded with drink demands. Two beers. Three whiskey shots. Four espresso martinis, themostannoyingdrink in the world to make. I lost myself in the flow of alcohol, cash, and annoying-but-innocent flirting that came with the job.

But the cowboys that had flirted with me last night were nowhere to be seen.

I guess I wasn’ttoosurprised. Everyone was crammed around the bar like cattle, three deep waiting for a chance to place an order. I enjoyed nights like this because time flew by, and the tips were great. Sometimes I could clear six hundred bucks in tips in a single shift, which made up for the slower nights the rest of the year.

Two hours into my shift, I glanced down the bar and blinked. He wasn’t wearing his trademark black hat, but those bloodshot eyes and vicious scowl were instantly recognizable. I couldn’t hear what he said over the background hum of music and chatter, but Sawyer raised a hand to the other bartender and mouthed the word “whiskey.”

I served the man in front of me, then took another order that required me to move farther down the bar to grab a bottle of gin. As I did, I smirked at Sawyer and shouted over the noise: “Should I be offended you didn’t order it from me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in thehintof a smile. “Nope,” he rasped in that deep, rumbling voice. The other bartender put a glass of whiskey down in front of him. Sawyer picked it up and put a twenty dollar bill down, then turned and walked away without another word.

Annoyance flared inside me. He was pretty much the only guy whohadn’tflirted with me tonight. That was all he had for me? A single word before walking away?

I gave myself a shake, and felt annoyed at being annoyed. I should have been happy to have a customer who ordered his drink and then left me alone. He clearly wasn’t interested.

Then why did I feel simultaneously angry and turned on?

It was probably because he was hot. That’s it. I was used to rejecting attractive men like him. Especially rodeo cowboys. No big deal.

“You look like you bit into a rotten lemon!” came a familiar, friendly voice. I turned to find Eli leaning across the bar, with Johnny squeezing in next to him.

“Probably annoyed at this crowd,” Johnny muttered. “Which is how I feel.”

I pointed at him. “Bingo. What are you drinking?”

“Two beers,” Eli answered for him. “And since I bought last night, this round’s on Johnny.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Two beers, coming right up,” I said, turning away to collect the glasses. We were already running low, which meant I had to bend low to retrieve two pint glasses from the bottom shelf. I could feel eyes on my ass, something I was used to, but when I turned back around the two men were the only customers at the bar whoweren’togling me. In fact, they were arguing.

“It’s because they didn’t get it!” Eli was insisting. “If they understood I was fake-falling, they would have cheered louder.”

“And whose fault is that?” Johnny replied.

“Not mine! My performance was spectacular!” Eli turned my way as I delivered the beers. “You saw my entrance, right, Sophie? Wasn’t it impressive?”

“Don’t engage with him, Sky Eyes,” Johnny said.

“I was busy serving beer,” I answered. “But I’m sure whatever you did required a lot of skill.”

Eli beamed triumphantly at Johnny. The next order I received was from a man next to them, allowing me to continue listening to their conversation while I made a whiskey sour.

“Congrats on your comedic act,” Johnny said dryly. “You should quit the real events and become a rodeo clown.”

“Maybe when I retire in five years,” Eli replied.

Johnny snorted. “You could workfiftyyears in the rodeo and never make enough to retire.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” Eli declared. “The prize pool is bigger than ever this year. A hundred grand for the winner of each event, and a coolmillionfor whoever wins the entire thing.”

“That’s great news for Chris Appleton,” Johnny said, smiling behind his beer.

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