Wrong Number Right Cowboy (Wrong Number, Right Guy #1)

1. Sawyer

SAWYER

“Isn’t this the best day ever?” my baby sister Sammie proclaims, though it’s hard to hear her over the loud bar music. The birthday girl throws her arms around my neck and squeezes me tight. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Are you having fun?” I fight a battle with a yawn and lose. Thankfully my twenty-five-year-old sister is too excited and buzzed on fruity drinks to notice or she’d call me out for being old for sure.

“I’m having the best time! You should come dance with me,” she adds on a pushy pout.

I’m saved from that disaster of a request when the live country band announces a special song dedicated to Sammie—from her boyfriend Carter. My sister squeals in shocked delight, forgetting all about me as she weaves her way through the crowded dance floor to find Carter.

“Here,” my best friend since kindergarten says, shoving a martini glass into my hand. It’s a tropical blue color that doesn’t look quite real.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” I say to Mel, fighting another yawn. God, when had thirty-five become the new fifty-five? It was only nine-thirty, and already I was craving my nice comfy pillowtop mattress and a good book.

Only, my bed was hundreds of miles away, in Dallas.

“Trust me, you’ll want this,” Mel insists.

“Everything okay?” I ask her, eyebrows drawn in concern.

“Yep. Just peachy.”

I instantly search the bar, looking for Boone.

Because if my best friend is encouraging me to get a little drunk when she adamantly promised to keep my sister from doing the same, it had to be about my ex.

I’d been back a few times since I turned down his proposal five years ago, but I’d been an expert at avoiding him in this small town.

“It’s not what you think,” Mel promises.

“Not Boone?”

“What if it was?”

I take a sip of the fruity concoction to avoid answering her question. “So what’s the crisis then?”

But Mel doesn’t have time to answer before the music cuts off and I hear Carter’s voice come over the microphone, asking my baby sister to join him on stage. The actual words are a blur, but the gesture is crystal clear. Carter gets down on one knee and offers an open ring box.

Sammie squeals yes so loud I have to cover my ears.

The crowd cheers.

I empty my drink, thankful my best friend had my back. I don’t bother asking how she got the heads up about the proposal.

“You need some air?” Mel asks.

“I should congratulate her first,” I say, feeling my throat close in on itself. So what if my baby sister, ten years my junior, is engaged? She’s been with Carter since their sophomore year of high school. It shouldn’t even be that big of a surprise.

Yet, the gut punch is harder than I expect.

I’m thirty-five and single, working a mundane corporate job for a company that underpays and underappreciates me. I live in a cramped two-bedroom apartment with a roommate who hates me. But hey, at least I have a 401k.

Sammie rushes me seconds after I empty my drink, knocking me back against the bar counter as she hugs me so tight I can’t breathe.

“I’m so happy for you,” I choke out due to lack of oxygen, forcing my biggest, brightest smile when she loosens her arms around my neck to show me the big, bright flashy ring.

I give Carter an approving nod. He did well. I can’t even fathom how long that boy saved up for the rock currently weighing down my baby sister’s hand.

“You’ll be my maid of honor, right?” Sammie asks, her eyes sparkling.

Thankfully, Mel comes through with another drink. I take a hearty sip before answering, “Of course, sweetie.”

“I can’t wait to start planning!” she squeals.

The live band announces a slow love song in honor of the newly engaged couple, and Carter pulls his fiancé out to the dance floor.

I empty my drink.

Then another.

And another.

“You think you’ve had enough?” Mel asks thirty minutes later, her mom voice coming out.

“I think one more,” I say to the bartender.

He shakes his head no.

“I think it’s time we go home.”

“I can’t drive us,” she says. “Let me call?—”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“There’s no Uber in this town, sweetie,” Mel says gently, patting me on the shoulder. A wave of dizziness hits me hard, and I’m suddenly so fucking tired. I dig my phone out from my bottomless purse and scroll through my contacts until I find one that says Uber .

“I’ll call an Uber,” I say again.

“I don’t think you call Uber,” Mel says, but she seems distracted. She’s on her own phone, and I decide it’s now a race to see who can call an Uber first.

I push call and wait as the phone rings, feeling smug about my victory already.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes, this is Sawyer Rose. I need an Uber at—” Suddenly, the name of the bar I’ve known all my life is a complete blank. But I’m pretty sure it’s the only one in town. “At the bar. I need a ride home. To Dallas. I really want my own bed.”

The man on the other end of the phone chuckles. His laughter, sexier than it has any right to be, sounds strained somehow. But it’s not my mystery to solve my Uber driver’s life problems. “You’re drunk,” he says.

“I won’t puke in your car. Pinky swear.”

“ Why are you at the bar?” His tone sounds less friendly.

“You ask a lot of questions for an Uber drive.” Another wave of exhaustion reminds me I’m not a spring chicken.

Maybe I could just curl up right on a stool.

Does this bar have pillows? “My sister, if you must know. It’s her engagement day.

Or wait. It’s her birthday. Did you know she’s only twenty-five and now I’m her maid of honor? ”

“Don’t move, Sawyer. I’ll be right there.”

I like the sound of don’t move and let my eyes fall closed against the nice cool marble of this really odd pillow.