Page 185 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I don’t like it.
Why did I agree to this?
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” The fake cowboy thrust his groin.
He holds up the panties, inspecting them like a prize.
Pervert.
“Well, well. Looks like someone’s eager.” He scans the front row and winks at the women.
Our women.
He stops in front of Josie. “I think I’m gonna have to keep these as a souvenir.” He slips them into his pocket, never breaking eye contact with her.
“Keep ‘em safe, cowboy. I’m not handing over anything I don’t plan on reclaiming.”
The women cling to each other, laughter and shouts blending into one pulsing chorus.
“Careful now, darlin’, I might just make you the star of the show.” His voice drips with flirtation. “Guess it’s only fair to show my appreciation, huh?”
He tosses a playful salute to her before turning back to the crowd. “Let me hear you, ladies!”
He makes an exaggerated, slow turn with his hips that makes half the room lose it, like this is the most fantastic show they’ve ever seen.
It’s a damn circus.
My eyes fix on Jade’s backside. I only catch glimpses of her enjoyment when she turns to Hannah. But she is enjoying this, hell,reallyenjoying it.
I’m not surprised. Kinky fetishes have always captured her interest. That’s how the bucket list got so out of control. Even though we hadn’t been intimate at that point, she’d been curious and drawn to what she wanted. I’d been all for it—with her.
Only her.
A crack snaps my attention to the stage.
Shit.
He’s tossing a lasso around, spinning it like he’s some expert, cracking it in the air.
I could do it better. And damned if I don’t want to strip down for Jade.
Fucking hell, I do. I want to do everything with her, but I can’t. And I hate that our lack of fighting has left room in my head for all these thoughts to flood me.
This poser with a lasso does another twirl, and more women scream. Then, he rips off his shirt, flexing his abs, moving slowly, giving them a show.
“Who wants a piece of this cowboy?” The cowboy costume king growls into the microphone, moving closer to the edge of the stage.
The women are eating it up, hands up in the air, yelling like they’re at a damn rock concert.
Dean slaps the back of Harper’s chair. “This is awesome! This guy is a hoot! He’s got the moves. The lasso? Dude, that’s next level.”
I stare at him, unable to suppress a growl.
“I don’t know what you’re seein’,” I mutter. “But this is a damn joke.”
He laughs, reaching over to clap my knee. “You’re just mad ‘cause you can’t do it.”
Damn right I can’t—wouldn’t want to.
