Page 4 of Rodeo Rivals
After a slight nod, he hung his head briefly as he pulled out his wallet. “You sure you’re not a shark or something?”
She lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. “Not professionally.”
He snorted as he extended the bill toward her.
When she reached for it, he snapped it back. “Can I get you a drink?”
She eyed him warily as he slowly re-offered the money.
Brazenly, she snatched the bill. Her gaze swept up and down—no doubt sizing him up.
Standing a bit straighter, he rocked his shoulders a bit as though preening.
From her back pocket, she pulled out a cell phone and glanced at the screen. “Yeah. It’s still early. Why the hell not?”
As he approached her side, she tucked her phone and the cash away. He held out his elbow, and she peered up at him. There wasn’t that much of a height difference between them, but it was just enough for her to tilt up her chin as she gave him yet another side-eye.
“Just trying to be a gentleman.”
“I didn’t know they still made those.”
“I’m an old model,” he said as she rested her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m almost thirty.”
“Should I call you Grandpa?”
“I prefer Daddy.”
Wide-eyed, she sputtered and tripped over her own feet.
Unable to contain himself, he laughed while catching her. “I’m kidding.”
Regaining her composure and running a hand over her ponytail, she cleared her throat.
“I mean,” he began as he leaned against her so their shoulders bumped, “unless you’re into that.”
“Oh my God,” she said on a chortle and playfully slapped his arm.
Which wasn’t an answer.
He held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”
Covering her face as they approached the bar, she shook her head. “If you want me to stick around for more than one sip, stop saying stuff like that.”
“Noted.” He pulled out the stool for her and gestured for her to take a seat. “You’re vanilla,” he teased with a playful wink.
She scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said and took a seat.
“Are you offering?” he asked as he sat beside her.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Wyatt smirked, proud that their spirited and flirty banter had rendered her speechless. He won.
The bartender came over, drying a glass with a white cloth. She glanced between them and jutted her chin in their direction.
“I’ll have another Blue Moon and…” he said and turned toward McKayla, waiting for her to order.
He watched her throat bob as she swallowed and turned her attention back to the woman slinging drinks. “A Kentucky Mule, please.”
Wyatt quirked a brow. That was new. He’d never heard of those before. Shifting his focus, he made eye contact with the bartender. “And a Kentucky Mule,” he repeated as he slid a twenty onto the bar. “Whatever that is.”
