4. Draven
Draven
“ W hiskey.”
“Any chaser?”
I sat down on the bar stool. “A second whiskey.”
The burly, hairy man behind the bar gave me a nod of approval.
My eyes scanned the interior of the bar, looking for exactly two things:
I needed to find Max Burnett, firstly.
But I also needed to take care of my increasingly needy cock.
I’d taken care of finding a house, a plot of land, and even got lucky on a lead about buying a horse.
Tonight the last unmet need I had to fulfill was finding someone to fuck.
I could feel it, building beneath my skin, like an aching sunburn from the inside.
The Hard Spot Saloon somehow managed to look like a dive bar and a homey cabin all at once.
It was all hardwood and dim lighting, another perfect hideaway in this small town.
It was early evening and the place wasn’t anywhere near full, but if the pictures on the wall were any indication, the place would likely get rowdy at night.
I could find someone in this bar who would gladly take my cock, and I needed to press the reset button inside me before my desires started to spill over into something bad.
I scanned the room again, glancing around the bookshelves and pool tables. I’d probably have to wait until a little later if I wanted any chance at blending in.
Looking at Max’s videos had gotten me pent up earlier, and being out of Montana had started the process.
The fact that no one knew me here in Tennessee?
That was the best part of it all.
I’d already seen the way people looked at me here. Growing up, I’d always been told I was good-looking, and even back home where people expected it, I could still feel eyes land on me when I walked into a room.
Here, though, people weren’t used to seeing anybody other than locals.
They really noticed me.
A woman had gasped when she looked up and saw my eyes earlier at a convenience store. “ Holy Bejeezus, ” she’d said. “ Those are green .”
That was the reaction I was hoping to get from someone in this bar tonight, while I kept a close watch on Max, too.
I was one sip deep into my whiskey when I looked up toward the back hallway and saw that item number one on my to-do list was right here in front of me.
“Max,” I said as he came walking out.
He gave me a nod, and a polite smile.
Even that little gesture—a smile he felt like he had a fake for me—was a little addictive.
I patted the barstool next to mine. “Let me buy you a drink. Can you take a ten minute break?”
He gave me a hard glare now as he walked behind the bar.
“What’s next, Kane?” Max said to the other, older bartender, ignoring me.
Oh well.
It had been worth a try.
Max was wearing a tight white T-shirt that looked better fitted for a workout than a night shift at a saloon. His light brown hair shone as he walked past the pendant bar lights, tapping something out on the screen of the nearby register.
God , he really was hot. He looked strong, even if he hadn’t been able to take me last night. Nice biceps, and better pecs.
I liked that his instinct had been to fight. But you could tell from a mile away that he was a sweet guy. Most of his physique came from a gym, not the real world.
He kept glancing up at me like he wanted to deck me in the face.
But we both knew how that would end if he tried.
“You’re Kane?” I asked the other guy.
“Depends on who’s asking,” he said, glancing up at me.
“Mr. Marsden said you owe him a bag of mulch.”
“That old man has been saying I owe him a bag of mulch for two years,” Kane said. “I’ve given him bags of mulch twice now to make up for it, but he forgets. I’ve also given him probably half a dozen beers on the house when he comes by the bar.”
“Thought of a new combo last night,” Max told Kane, clearly trying to pretend that I wasn’t here. “I was thinking, why doesn’t anyone ever do cinnamon with grape?”
Kane screwed up his face. “I’ve heard you do weirder combos, but I still don’t know if I believe in a cinnamon-grape cocktail.”
“The coconut cream ties it together, though. You’ll see.”
Watching Max try so hard to ignore me was tantalizing. I felt a smile tugging at my lips as I watched him busy himself behind the bar, as if he didn’t want to reach across the bar and slam my head against it.
Such good restraint.
“Save that one for the videos,” Kane said. “I saw your last one popping off, by the way.”
“My phone was dinging all day with notifications,” Max said. “I had to mute it, eventually.”
“The Cocktail Bro is going to be famous.”
Max blushed a little.
It made me want to lean in and touch the heat on his cheeks.
Kane shook his head as he polished the final pint glass on the rack in front of him.
“All right. Max, keep the front running for twenty. I need to go answer the email from the cider supplier before he cuts me off for autumn. I’ll be back.”
Max gave him a little salute.
Kane disappeared into the back, and then it was just us out here.
I watched Max work for a while. He rearranged a row of limes. Wiped the same spot on the bartop three times. Asked a woman on the other end of the bar if she needed anything else twice.
Still trying to act busy behind the bar even though he didn’t have shit to do.
“The Cocktail Bro,” I told him. “Pretty entertaining videos.”
He set his jaw, still not making eye contact with me.
“They’re not for you.”
I made a mental note to finally make myself come to one of his videos later.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a spare lawn mower, would you?” I asked him.
He glanced up at me. His eyes were bluer than I’d noticed last night, and they were pretty in the light of the bar. Baby blue and honest, like he couldn’t hide a feeling if he tried.
“You trying to mow my parents’ lawn for them?” he asked.
“No. I’m trying to make conversation with the pretty frat boy behind the bar.”
He glared at me. His blush came back a little.
So you like me calling you pretty, huh?
“I graduated a year ago.”
“Can take the guy out of the frat, but can’t take the frat out of the guy.”
He was trying his best to frown. “I’m working. Why are you here?”
He gave me an unwavering stare, but he had such a sweet face that his version of hostility just looked like an adorable puppy trying to seem menacing.
There was one thing I noticed about him, though. One thing I kept noticing, every time he was near me:
The moment he finally looked at me, he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.
He looked at my eyes.
My chest.
My mouth, too.
He said he didn’t trust me, and he tried to show that on the outside, too. But there was something else.
Desire crept its way through me, slow but persistent, like a thickening fog.
“What kind of cowboy are you?”
I took a slow sip of my whiskey. “The Montana kind.”
“Did you really even ride?” he asked, looking me over like he was judging me, hard.
“I ride. Yes.”
“Cattle ranching? Horse or sheep ranch? Do you take your horses out twice a year, and for the rest of the year let your workers take care of them?”
“I rode Veil every day that weather allowed it,” I told him. “Wasn’t easy to get a Friesian mare, but I made it happen. And if you’re asking what types of ranches my family owns, the answer is that we have a few of all of them.”
“Multiple ranches.”
I nodded.
He looked down at the bar, like he was finally realizing just how serious the Lyons family was about the ranching business.
“So you are a real cowboy.”
“Don’t know what the fuck that means, but yes.”
His eyes met mine, a burning question in them now. “Do you own a gun?”
“I own multiple, Max.”
He swallowed. “Did you bring them here?”
“I did not.”
He nodded.
“I see.”
“My own personal ranch estate was used for horse rehabilitation,” I told him. “My own project. My family are much more for-profit , and they liked to tell me I was wasting my time on the rescues and rejects. But helpless creatures deserve attention, too.”
“So you rebelled against your family by taking care of sick and injured horses?”
I set my jaw. “I rebelled in all sorts of ways.”
He glared at me. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by that?”
“That’s up to you.”
I thought of blood, spilling on the dewy morning grass.
Of hospital beds.
Stretchers.
My own knuckles, repeatedly broken.
Of all those mistakes that littered my path to here.
“Fine. You’re a real cowboy. Still don’t like you in my town, and still don’t trust you. And I don’t know why you're here tonight.”
I adjusted on the leather bar stool, kicking back a little.
God, I liked Max.
His sexy, boyish features and his endless light brown hair, sure. His perky ass that always looked so good under his shorts, and the way his nipples were sometimes hard beneath his tight shirts.
I wanted to fuck his ass fucking raw , yes.
But I also liked that he was so sweet-natured yet he didn’t try to hide a thing from me.
He told me how he felt. He didn’t back down, even after he knew I could take him in a fight.
Not even for a moment. I was nearly a decade older than him and I could remember how I felt when I was around his age—like the whole world was still cracked wide open to me.
Ready for me to take.
How was he so happy to stay here in this small town?
Why didn’t he dream bigger than this?
“You want to know why I’m here tonight?” I asked. “Maybe I’m looking for someone to bring me home.”
He gave me a death glare. “So you’re not just an asshole, you’re openly talking about cheating on my sister?”
The comment caught me off guard.
Right .
I hadn’t exactly updated Max on that situation.
“I’m not cheating on Lily,” I said. “Lily and I aren’t?—”
“Don’t tell me you’re in an open relationship. Lily is a one-man kind of person, even if she supports people who are poly.”
“Not what I was going to say, Baby Blue,” I told him. “We’re not together.”
I marveled at the way he defended his sister.