Page 59 of The Brave and the Reckless

“Yes, come to the stables tomorrow before the park opens.”

“Seriously? Wait. Riding lessons, orriding lessons?”

She met my puzzled gaze with a roll of her eyes. Wrapping her fingers around my arm for support, she jumped up to snatch my hat. It dropped loosely over her head, the black brim falling down to her brow.

For just a split second, her intention blazed through me and singed a path down my center, straight to my dick. The heat was quickly doused by the realization that she wasn’t wearingmyhat. She was wearing Ace Ryder’s hat. She wanted riding lessons from thevillain. I supposed she’d already checked the sheriff off her list.

Just like Bravetown wasn’t actually good enough for a girl like her,Iwasn’t enough. She was playing make-believe.

It shouldn’t have bothered me. I still got her writhing and begging under my touch even if it was fictional for her. And yet… that stupid black hat bothered me.

“Give it back,” I rasped, holding my hand out.

“What if I want to ride the cowboy this belongs to?” She grinned up at me from below the brim.

“Esra, hand it over.”

“Oh, okay.Serious voice.” She snorted and flung the hat back at me. “Excuse a girl for trying to be flirty.”

“If you want to go around and collect the hats from all the cowboys in Bravetown, go ahead, but there’s a name for girls like that.”

“What?”

“Buckle Bunnies,” I replied.

Her face contorted. Her button nose crinkled up, giving a perfect impression of a bunny as she processed my words. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, that’s sexist on a whole new level. What do you call all the men in Heather’s comment section then?”

“Delusional,” I muttered, but it didn’t stop her tirade.

“And third of all, fuck you. You can’t hike up my skirt, slap my ass, fingerbang me into oblivion and then turn around and slut-shame me when I dare suggest we go further than that. Just because you didn’t get your dick wet, doesn’t mean you were any less of a participant in our bunnying around.”

She stormed forward, stomping her feet on the steps up to our house.

“And fourth of all, fuck you!” She slammed the door after her hard enough to rattle it in its frame.

“Did she slap you?” Austin asked from the sofa when I walked in a moment later, his headphones already halfway down his neck. He must have just caught the end of the argument. Esra’s boots stomped up the last few stairs and a moment later another door slammed shut.

“No. Why would she?”

“Damn,” he grunted, “I have twenty on a good slap.”

“You bet on her slapping me?” I asked, strangely grateful for the distraction. If we talked about that, I didn’t have to think about the strange fight I’d just had with Esra, when I wasn’t sure why I’d reacted that way. I didn’t even know when I’d last used the term Buckle Bunny.

“My odds aren’t good,” Austin said. “Too many people agree with me. If you wanted to throw all of her belongings out the window or mix bleach into her shampoo, I’d make enough money to buy a new car.”

“What else did people bet on?”

“Anything from insult to murder, to be honest.”

“I just called her a Buckle Bunny, if that helps your financial aspirations.”

“Not mine, but I believe Vivi just made twenty bucks.” Austin started typing on his phone, presumably to alert whatever group chat had the betting pool going.

“Y’all don’t work hard enough if you have time for stupid shit like this.”

“Why’d you call her a Buckle Bunny?” he asked, not looking up from his phone. I wasn’t sure whether he asked out of genuine interest or if this was part of the bet.

“Her thing with Lucas.”

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