Somebody Like Me (Hartwell Hills #1)

1. One

One

Kyla

“Hey girl, what’cha drinkin’?”

Oh great . . . here we go.

This was not why I was here.

Here was a dark, dingy bar, that smelled like wings and bad beer, in some no-name town in Idaho. There weren’t any neon signs hanging on the wall, but there were bull skulls and cowboy hats hanging from the rafters. Pool tables lined the walls, and the crowds were pouring in. This was clearly a local bar that really didn’t have anything for me. I was thankful they at least had Captain Morgan and Dr Pepper.

Even though I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing in this exact bar, I knew for sure I wasn’t here to have some man in a cowboy hat ask me “what’cha drinkin’. ”

The audible groan I let out would have filled the entire bar if the country music wasn’t so damn loud. Not that I didn’t like country music. On a normal day it would have calmed me, but I just wasn’t in the mood for it. Give me some grunge hate music right now—not Shania.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I answered, my eyes focusing on the drink I already had, completely turning away from him.

“Oh, wait,” he interrupted, “I’d just love to buy you a round.” His arm fell on the bar top in front of me as he let a small chuckle out of his throat. It was deep, raspy, and it definitely caught my attention.

His voice still vibrating in my ears, I looked at his forearm on the bar top and followed it up to his shoulders to finally look at him.

And damn . . . I shouldn’t have looked.

I saw him earlier, sitting on the opposite end of the bar as me with two other men. One wore a baseball hat, and the other sat in the corner with his arms folded over his chest. Out of all of them, Cowboy was hard not to notice. The man would be able to stop oncoming traffic. His tan cowboy hat sat perched on what I could only assume was a gorgeous, full head of light brown hair, his light beard only defining his perfect jawline. He had a slight smile on his lips and his blue eyes were standing out over the shadow of the hat. He was stunning.

I blinked and looked back at the drink in front of me, running my fingers along the condensation. I inhaled, letting my breath sit in my lungs for a few seconds, and then let it out through my lips.

“Listen,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’m done with relationships, so if you could please. . ."

“Who said anything about a relationship? I just asked if I could buy you a drink.” His voice was solid, sliding off his tongue like butter. Calm. Collected. Deep. Seductive. And that smile . . .

I squinted my eyes as my nose scrunched. “Yeah, I guess I did jump right to that didn’t I?” I mumbled.

“What was that, Princess?”

Princess?

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

He let out a raspy chuckle again as his chin dipped. Looking up at him again, I almost felt my stomach drop. God he was gorgeous. And his laugh . . . oof . . . if I wasn’t sitting my knees would be liquid by now, just from his laugh alone.

I would be lying if I said my mind didn’t wonder what his laugh, his voice, would sound like if he whispered against my ear. Heat began to rise and the butterflies settled in my stomach. Even though it had been only six months since I left my ex and all the manipulation that went with him, we hadn’t slept together in over a year—and even then, it wasn’t the best sex I’d ever had.

And to think I was almost stuck with him forever .

I was meant to be starting fresh here, figuring everything out. But now, there was Cowboy here, sending chills up my spine simply by talking. Making me think all sorts of things I shouldn’t be thinking.

His hands on my waist, his fingers against my skin.

His lips on me . . .

Snap out of it, Kyla. Remember you don’t need, or want this.

“Okay, humor me. What made you come over here then? Just saw a pretty girl sitting by herself and thought you’d come over and flirt?” I spun in my chair, facing the striking man in front of me, and leaned my elbow on the bar top.

He smiled again, the corners of his lips twitching as his teeth came into view, a dimple becoming visible on his right cheek. He really needed to stop smiling.

Reaching up, he took his hat off, confirming my suspicion that his hair was indeed beautiful. He rested his hat on the bar top before taking a seat on the stool next to me. Clearing his throat he said, “I saw a beautiful woman sitting alone and a lot of idiots more than willing to make fools of themselves.” His eyes began to roam the bar. He did have a point. There were more men than women in the small space. “I decided to—”

“To what?” I interrupted him this time, taking him by surprise. “Make a fool of yourself ?”

He let out a loud laugh as his chin dipped. “No, I came over here to hopefully buy you a drink. To talk.”

“Before your friends could beat you to it?” I narrowed my eyes at him, not breaking his gaze while I lifted my glass to my lips, taking a sip.

“My friends?” he parroted, turning back to the table he came from. The two men weren’t even paying attention to us. “Wyatt is . . . well . . .” He turned his back to me. “He’s a couple of beers in. Lachlan will make sure he makes it home, but . . . I couldn’t stop thinking about why you were sitting here alone ever since you came in.” His eyebrows raised, the corner of his lips twitching.

Wyatt. Lachlan.

I narrowed my eyes. Glancing back at the table, I studied them for a moment, before my focus went back to the man in front of me. He was dressed like your typical, run of the mill, cowboy. A white t-shirt was tucked into his Wrangler jeans, topped with a shiny belt buckle, and a blue, button-down shirt opened showing the tee underneath, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off his toned forearms, and brown boots tucked in his pants with mud on the toes. The only thing he didn’t have was the southern drawl, but being in Idaho I didn’t expect him to. His voice was still vibrating in my ears and—southern drawl or not—I wanted him to talk again.

But I wanted him to leave me alone.

I also really wanted him to stay.

Why did I want him to stay?

I hated the way the anxiety ate at every decision that came my way. Inhaling, I dug deep in my gut for courage I knew existed there. I’d leave it up to my favorite game if he stayed or not. That way it wasn’t my decision.

“Alright, Cowboy,” I sighed, lifting my drink, downing the rest of the alcohol inside.

“Cowboy?” he emphasized, the grin only growing.

“How about we play a game.” I stared him down.

“A game?”

I nodded, eyeing him up and down once more. “I’m decent at reading people. I bet if I can guess five things about you, you get out of my hair. If I can’t, you can buy me that drink.”

“Five things? You don't know me.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “You’re easy to read.”

He raised his sandy eyebrows. “Excuse me? ”

I tapped the tan hat on the bar. “You’ve got a cowboy name. Rhett . . . or maybe Stetson.” I narrowed my eyes at him, studying his chiseled features. “Yeah, Stetson. After your father’s favorite hat.”

He looked at me, then the hat. He grabbed it from the table and sheepishly placed it back on his head. “Is that one or two facts?”

I smirked, giddy at being right and suddenly couldn’t wait to show off more. “Just one.” I nodded my head towards the belt. “That’s one fancy buckle, my guess is it’s from the rodeo. You look like a bull rider. Don’t bull riders get all the girls? And injuries?” He smirked, telling me I was onto something. This man wasn’t going to buy me a drink. “You also live on a ranch. Hell, you probably own it. You drive a truck—a Ford F-250 or something ridiculous like that. It’s probably white. And last fact, your drink order.”

“My drink order?”

“I guarantee you order the house tap—the most watered-down beer in the joint simply because it’s local.”

I rested my arm on the wooden bar top, the smile of victory spreading upon my lips. I had him. The look on his face told me I did. He was stone cold, his eyes fixed on the bar top. Bringing his eyes to me, he glared, knowing full well I had won. He shifted in his seat, licking his lips as he searched the bar for something that wasn’t there.

“All five have to be right in order for you to win, right?” he asked.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You are—”

“Ha!” I laughed, my entire body jerking forward in my chair. I won.

“—on all except one fact.”

“Wait, what?”

“So that means . . .” He raised his hand, waving to the bartender, giving her a slight nod. “I’m buying your next drink.”

I was stunned.

“What’cha drinkin?” he asked again once the girl came to take our order.

“Rum and Dr. Pepper,” I mumbled, my tone low as I grappled with the fact that I had lost. I never lost.

“And I’ll have the most watered-down house beer on tap you have.” Cowboy smiled, his eyes not once leaving mine.

“You got it.” The bartender winked at me.

I was silent as my drink was placed in front of me, and when he brought his mug to his lips he laughed.

“Ah, watered-down to the perfect amount.” He smiled, watching as I picked up my drink to sip.

“Are you going to tell me which one I was wrong on? I was pretty sure I got them all.”

“I’m not a bull rider,” he corrected.

My eyes widened as I turned to look at him, “You mean to tell me your name really is Stetson?”

He laughed, “No, that’s my nephew’s name. I’m Rhett.” Rhett held out his hand for me to shake. “And you are?”

I held back a laugh. “Rhett? I was only half-kidding. You look more like a Stetson. But Rhett? That’s a name you only see in romance novels.” I touched my glass, almost looking forward to the taste of the alcohol .

Rhett dropped his hand, but the smirk stayed on his lips. “My mom’s favorite book is Gone with the Wind . . .”

“Ah . . .” I raised my glass to my lips. “Rhett Butler.”

“So technically, I got two wrong.” I slumped my shoulders.

“Technically, you guessed Rhett first. I’d take it as a win. So . . . let’s start over. Hey girl, I’m Rhett. And you are?” He raised his hand again, this time his fingers moving slightly.

I looked quickly at his hand, and then back to his blue eyes, heavy and beautiful as they studied me, the smirk on his lips growing. I sighed and accepted the defeat. Taking his hand, I felt his warmth instantly. Sparks flew up my arm and his fingers pulsed against my skin. This was new. I would be the first to admit I was nervous. I hadn’t had this feeling since . . . well, never. I can’t recall having it with my ex. But the weight that came with Rhett’s handshake, the hunger in his eyes . . . it was intriguing, and I was curious to have more.

Hell, it was one night in a bar, then we’d go our separate ways. Him to his ranch, me to Washington to begin my new life. A few hours in a bar couldn’t hurt.

“Kyla,” I answered him, a newfound courage bubbling after learning I wasn’t going to spend the evening alone. Rhett had found me.