Page 2 of Ace of Spades
“Yeah—I ride horses, not dick.”
Ava rolls her eyes, lifting her beer to her lips as I wave the bartender down for a water.
“You’re no fun, you need more daddy issues.”
“Sorry, I’ll get right on that.”
“Okay, hear me out—” She turns to point toward the pool tables in the back corner, where four of the biggest names in the WPRA happen to be standing. “Weston Langford, Chance Crowley, Rafe Kincaid, and Beau Bennet.”
My heart rate increases at seeing all of them in person for the first time. The TV screens don’t do them justice, all of them far more handsome than I would have imagined, and all in different ways.
Rafe and Beau have a cleaner look to them, the pair of blond team ropers similar enough to look like brothers if it weren’t for the difference in their size. Rafe’s hair was slightly darker—more of a dirty blonde, a perpetual look of disinterest on his face. He had a slightly larger build, unlike Beau, who edged more on the lankier side.
“Rafe and Beau are more your type since you’re into team ropers and all, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that Rafe is emotionally unavailable and Beau’s practically all wifed-up. Weston and Chance, though…”
My eyes move over to the two roughies racking up the balls. Chance was above average height for a bull rider, with a muscular build and shaggy brown hair. From the little I’d seen of him, I could already tell he was the outgoing one in the group: Charming, goofy, with a smile I’m sure had dropped quite a few panties in the past.
And then, there was Weston. Three-time defending world champion bronc rider, ladies' man—or at least, as rumor would claim—and a sight to behold. He was nearly as tall as Chance, easily six-four or six-five. Tattoos snaked down one arm, one of them peeking through the collar of his shirt and onto his neck. Cigarette in hand and dark hair peeking from under his hat, he held a lazy grin on his face, the only thing making him look slightly less intimidating.
“And you just moved to their town! That works out perfectly, you can introduce us,” Ava continues.
“I doubt that’s a great idea. In case you haven’t noticed, Cedar Creek isn’t exactly too fond of my family moving there.”
“I really don’t think they care,” she argues.
“I can guarantee you that they do. My dad’s practically been getting death threats from the townspeople ever since he announced the new resort we’re building. They hate us, Ava, I’m telling you.”
“He’s really been getting death threats?” she asks, her brown eyes going wide.
“I mean, no, but close enough. I haven’t even tried going into town since moving in with my parents, my dad says it’s rough out there. We knew they’d be opposed to change, but it’s all a bit dramatic if you ask me.”
“I’m telling you, it’s going to be fine. Which one do you want? Tall, dark, and handsome, or pretty boy? I guarantee that they’re both great in bed, I can tell just from the looks of them.”
“You sure you’re not just saying that because of the rumors?”
“Okay, well that too. But I feel like they’d be good in different ways, you know? I feel like Chance would make it fun, he’s such a goofball. Now, Weston—” she fans herself. “That looks like a man that wouldn’t be afraid to throw you around a little, you know what I mean. He exudes big dick energy.”
“Who are we talking about?” Brad cuts in, placing the shots on the bar table. Ava throws hers down in one go, Brad following suit, the smell of the amber liquid tickling my nostrils from here.
“Ava’s trying to figure out which of the roughies she wants to take home tonight,” I tell him. “She’s trying to decide between Weston Langford and Chance Crowley.”
“Those two? Yikes. Watch out, you might get fleas.”
“Not sure about the fleas,” a deep voice cuts in from behind us, and a shiver skates down my spine. I turn to find none other than the two men in question, my head tilting back to find a dangerous pair of green eyes studying me.
“But we do bite,” Weston finishes with a wolfish grin.
Chance stands at Weston’s side, a mischievous look in his eyes as he snaps his teeth in the air.
“Sup Langford. Crowley,” Brad greets from beside me, his tone devoid of any warmth.
“Easton,” Chance acknowledges. Weston remains silent, a quiet authority about him. He carries himself effortlessly, yet there’s a commanding presence about him.
I roll my eyes, already annoyed with the masculine display and the tension killing the mood.
“Brad, why don’t you go get me a beer?”
Brad doesn’t acknowledge me as he continues whatever staredown is going on between the three guys.
