Page 20 of Rough Ride

I snapped my fingers at him impatiently. “Eli. Focus. Can you make sure he gets home okay? He hasn’t had enough to get alcohol poisoning, but he’s definitely drunk.”

Eli tipped his brown cowboy hat at me. “Yes ma’am, Eli is on the job. Come on,frenemy. Let’s get you back to that rust bucket you call a trailer.”

He slung an arm around Johnny and helped the man to his feet. At least he was able to stand on his own, though he was definitely drunk.

“Sorry about the bad cowboy,” Johnny slurred to me. “I’m a good cowboy. Promise.” He stabbed a finger into Eli’s chest. “He’s a good cowboy too. A pain in the ass, but good.”

Eli looked at me. “I don’t know what bad cowboy he’s talking about, but I want to hear about it later. And color me impressed, darlin’. You can hold your liquor with the best of us.”

He tipped his hat to me again, then helped Johnny through the crowd. I felt a little guilty for drinking fake liquor while their shots were all real, but then again,theywere the ones who wanted to buy me a drink.

I watched them until they disappeared out of this area. But before I turned back to my bar, I caught sight of someone in the crowd. He wasn’t wearing his black hat, but once again I immediately recognized Sawyer Easton’s scowl. From across the packed room, he was staring right at me.

And as soon as I met his gaze, he turned and disappeared into the other room.

Hmm.

9

Sawyer

This fucking girl was stuck in my head like a bad idea.

This wasn’t like me. Ihatedplaces that made the women show some skin, like Hooters. I wasn’t a loser who needed to pay to see a pair of tits. I’d never had a problem in that area. Billy Bob’s wasn’tthatbad, but the bartenders and waitresses still had the same bullshit dress code. Flannel shirts with one button too many opened down the middle. Jean shorts that were so far up their ass they might as well have been a denim thong. Flirty smiles and bashed eyelashes.

It wasn’t my kind of place.

Until Sophie walked into my camp.

Her friend was smoking-hot too, but I couldn’t look away from Sophie. Silky blonde hair and eyes that cut like daggers. A confident little sway in her step, and a sly smile with perfect pursed lips that might kiss or insult, depending on her mood.

My heart was racing from the moment she walked up, and didn’t slow down until long after they had left.

For her, I would make an exception and visit a place like Billy Bob’s. For just the chance at seeing which choice her lips would make that night, insult or kiss.

Buttheywere already there.

I had nothing against Elijah and Johnny. As far as rodeo competition went, they weren’t shitty. I didn’t hate their fucking guts the way I did Chris Appleton or some of the other cocky rodeo fuckers I was forced to be around.

But I didn’t like competition. And Ihatedplaying games. That wasn’t my style. If a woman wanted to pit three men against each other with her flirty smiles, I would bail like she was a rodeo bull with its balls tied in a knot.

My feet wouldn’t leave the honky tonk, though. Something about Sophie made me stay close, like she had thrown a lasso around my waist.

And every time I caught a glimpse of those perfect blue eyes, the lasso tightened a little bit more.

I stuck around that first night with my throwing knives. Then, after the opening ceremony, I came back and told myself it was because I wanted to listen to live music. It was the truth—Billy Bob’s had too many music stages to count, and all of them had someone strumming the guitar.

But I was only lying to myself. It wasn’t the real reason I was there. Every few minutes I felt that lasso tug, and I would glance toward the bar where she was working, fake-flirting with all the asshole customers who came to a place like this.

What the hell was wrong with me?

The rodeo was where I came to have fun. Women loved a cowboy, and damned if I didn’t know how to play the part. I was usually drowning in pussy without even trying. I enjoyed it more than the rodeo itself.

But this year? I felt different.

In the three days since I rolled my truck and trailer into town, I’d had plenty of opportunities. That first night at Billy Bob’s, two women sauntered up and asked me about my throwing knives, playfully demanding that I show them how to throw.

I brushed them off.

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