Chapter 24 Ogres Are Known for Their Strength #2
“When you’re swept off your feet, literally, by a wildly powerful and ridiculously good-looking fairy or ogre, all things are possible.” Natalie’s eyes are distant and unfocused, as if she’s somewhere far away in her book world, despite being right here.
Josie nods, like she’s still processing. “This might be why you’re single.”
“Trust me, when you meet a fairy prince, you’ll forget every other man exists. Especially when he’s packing magic and something else that’ll leave you begging for more.”
“And we thought Juniper was her biggest issue.” Josie sets down the garbage can.
“It’s even more heated when we bring in a second fairy and his giant cock—”
“Alright!” Josie points at Natalie. “You need a cold shower. I need a cold drink.”
“And clothes.” Hannah rescues another abandoned dress beside Natalie’s feet. “Are these the books Mama buys you for Christmas every year?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think she knows that.”
Natalie shrugs. “Or maybe she does.”
Everyone gasps, then bursts into laughter so loud we don’t hear the door swing open until Bronx comes charging in.
It happens in a flash.
All six-foot-whatever of him crashes into Josie, a full-body slam. I almost feel the thud from where I’m standing.
My sister lets out a surprised squeak, and they both freeze.
His arm instinctively wraps around her waist, holding her steady against him, like he’s making sure she doesn’t fall. He doesn’t seem to notice she’s only wearing a skimpy bra and panties. He’s too busy scanning the room, as if he’s just walked into a VIP lounge at a sports bar.
“What the hell are you doing, Ogre?” Josie tries to slap him, but her arms are wedged between them, turning it into more of a soft tap.
But the second her fingertips touch his massive body, Josie’s eyes widen, realizing what she called him, and how accurate it is. He towers, giant-like, with a savageness that can hardly be a more perfect example of the so-called ogre Natalie speaks of.
Josie sees it.
I see it.
Every one of us women sees it.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, kid.” He still doesn’t look at her. “Ogres are known for their strength.”
According to Natalie, he’s spot on—strength and size.
Josie’s eyes land on his big, gruff hand solid on her small shoulder.
His eyes sharpen on the countertop, and a predatory grin appears. “Heard Celi is mixing up some killer drinks in here. Figured I’d—”
“Barge in and grope my naked body?”
He glances down, as if it’s the first time he notices Josie, even though his arm is snug around her waist and a hand on her small shoulder.
“Shit. Sorry about that, kid.”
Does he look disgusted?
“Call me kid one more fucking time.”
“I’m just here for the booze.” He holds up his free arm.
“Doesn’t give you a free pass to just barge in here like an—”
“Ogre?” He grins.
She clenches her jaw—speechless.
Is Josie speechless?
“Next time, I’ll knock, I promise.”
“Get off of me.”
“If you could just step aside.”
They both move at the same time, side-stepping in opposite directions. Her shoulder bumps his chest. His arm brushes her back. They end up blocking each other and twisting until he manages to get past her.
“Ogre,” she mutters.
He just grins. “Is that out of one of your storybooks?”
He has no idea.
“Fuck you.” She gives him the finger, but he’s already rubbing his hands together, and all his attention is on our cousin.
“Celi.” He licks his lips.
“Bronx.”
“What drink have you made for your favorite cowboy?”
“Hopefully one that’s poisoned.” Josie leans over the booth seat and fishes through a bag, finding sheer black pants that she pulls on. A crop shirt follows.
Bronx sips his drink. “Doesn’t taste poisonous. I’ll take three.”
Juggling his drinks, he turns toward the door. Josie’s fully dressed, although the material is sheer. She doesn’t move and forces him to do the same little awkward dance.
“See you in five.” He tips his head on the way out.
The door rattles behind him.
“Asshole.” Josie locks the door and looks at our cousins. “How are you two even friends with him? He’s a complete jackass.”
“He’s like a brother,” Celi says.
“A pain in the ass, brother.” Daisy snorts. “But he’s protective and loyal. Once you’re in his books, he’ll fight your battles without needing a reason.”
They’re not wrong. I’ve seen this side of him.
“He’s one of the giant, gruff, misunderstood creatures who are secretly tender-hearted, and the stuff of fantasy book dreams.” Natalie barely gets all her words out before she bursts into laughter.
“No. Enough out of you. You’re putting weird thoughts in my head.” Josie’s finger points at me. “Now, back to you.”
“Nope.”
“Let me do your hair and makeup.” Josie drags me to a leather bar stool beside Daisy. “Here’s to no roadside trauma tonight.” She hands me a glass, but she doesn’t let go when my fingers slip around it. “And no unwanted dick proximity.”
Hannah groans.
“You practically performed a medical procedure picking those ants off him.” Josie lets go of the glass. “Unless you want the dick proximity.”
“Make her stop,” I beg.
“It doesn’t have to be his since you two are being so weird.” She drags the brush through my hair, yanking my head back. “I do think you two boned, and this is the awkward aftermath.”
“We didn’t bone.” I sigh, pulling my head straight. “I’ve just decided I’m done fighting with him.”
“So you can bone him?” The rasp of the bristles stings my scalp.
“So I can live my life instead of living in the past.”
“Told you there was a past. Knew it.” Josie’s fingers dive into my scalp, spreading through the damp curls, creating a middle part.
“Enough about Hart. Tonight, I ride something mechanical and mark that off my bucket list.”
Not that a mechanical bull is on my bucket list. How did Hart remember exactly what the page meant? Why would he remember? If all I’d been was another fuck for him, why remember the pages? Why care about the book?
I stop myself. This is the road I’m finished traveling.
Josie clutches a fistful of hair. “You’re not ruling out all men. We’re at the rodeo. There are single wannabe cowboys everywhere who want to snag a cowgirl. You’re single. I’m single. Daisy’s single. Hannah’s single—”
“Don’t mash me into the mix.” Hannah slides the window curtain to peek outside.
“Wyatt’s coming. Get over it. Or get under him.” Josie plugs in a blow dryer. “I bet he won’t say no to grinding against you on the dance floor.”
“The only grinding any of us is doing is to the mechanical bull.” Daisy palms smack the counter, rattling out a drumroll.
Josie turns on the blow dryer, her fingers ruffling through my hair as she dries my roots.
Celi slides her sister a drink. “Just for you,” she shouts over the hum. “It’s called Heartbreaker Highball.”
Daisy scoffs. “I don’t break hearts.”
“No. You break their balls after you dance, drink, and hustle them at pool, but you never take one home.”
Daisy laughs hard. “You don’t stir up dust in your own corral. Besides, this weekend is about Jade’s bucket list.” Daisy lifts the glass to me. “To mechanical bulls.”
I lift the drink Celi gives me. “Grinding mechanical bulls.”
We throw back the drinks.
Josie doesn’t do anything fancy to my hair, but I’m not sure how a quick blow-dry makes my curls bounce the way they do. It’s like I’m the star getting a makeover on one of those Y2K rom coms. I promised I’d never be that woman. But I’m doing this for myself, so that’s the difference.
“Let’s shake it up tonight and let loose.” Josie plops my Stetson on my head and fluffs my curls over my shoulders.
I run my fingers through my hair, the statement sounding foreign, but thrilling.
“Let’s let loose.”
Josie whistles. “There she is.”
“Give me a second. I’m gonna change.”
“Ohhh.” Josie slaps my ass. “She’s gonna change.” She pulls the sleeve of my Aztec sweater, and I let it fall to the ground. “Shit just got real. All my clothes are on limits. In fact, I say wear anything.”
“If I want to look like a honky tonk heartbreaker or a woman who does questionable things in the back of a truck.”
“Questionable things in the back of a truck,” Josie yells.
I turn. “But seriously, pick up my sweater. It’s from grandma, remember?”
Josie is already bending down to grab it.
I shut the bedroom door and hear the laughter on the other side. Denim and T-shirts are my usual armour. But right now they feel like camouflage. Like I’m hiding in plain sight.
Not tonight.
I walk deeper into the chaos of their makeshift closet. AKA: the back bedroom that looks like a cowgirl yard sale exploded.
Clothes everywhere.
Glitter, fringe, something that might be feathers?
I eye the pile of dresses hanging crooked off an overhead hook. They’re not mine. None of this is mine. My sisters brought half a boutique and zero shame.
I pull one out. Black, fitted, tiny. Strapless. It looks like sin on a hanger.
I stare at it, half-horrified, half-hypnotized.
This ain’t me.
But maybe that’s the damn point.
I peel off my shirt, and my jeans follow.
I shimmy into it with way too much excitement for someone raised on Wrangler jeans and button-downs. Every tug feels like I’m shedding someone I outgrew, someone who always kept her buttons buttoned, her heart guarded, and her mouth polite.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I want to feel everything.
The dress is tighter than I expected. Shorter, too.
I catch myself in the mirror and blink.
Damn.
I don’t look like the ranch girl who wakes up at five to feed horses. I look like someone who’d climb onto a mechanical bull and break hearts with her thighs.
A hard knock makes me jump. “What did you find?” Josie rattles the door I’ve locked.
I strike another pose in the mirror, cock a hip, try to smirk.
It’s—a look.
But something about it feels like I borrowed confidence from a woman I’ve never met.
“Jade.” Another knock and rattle of the door.
“Cool your boots.” My eyes drift past the mirror. And that’s when I see it.
Tucked behind a pile of Josie’s mess is a dress I hadn’t noticed before. It’s soft, earth-toned, and long, but not shy. The deep V-neck and slit up the front doesn’t scream, it just purrs, and it’s the kind of fabric that moves when you walk, not clingy, not loud.
Just easy.
Effortless.
Real.
I peel off the little black number and toss it onto the bed. In a few steps, I grab the dress. The fabric kisses my skin, settling around my waist. I pair it with my brown embroidered boots and Stetson.
This is me. The version of me that’s done holding back. Not honky tonk heartbreaker or a back-of-the-truck cliché. Just me.
Confident. Western. Dangerous.
A slow smile curls across my lips, and I open the door with newfound confidence.
Their whistles only boost that confidence.
“It’s perfect.” Natalie pinches my skirt as I walk past her.
“Sexy cowgirl.” Josie tips my hat down.
“Let’s go knock ‘em dead.” I throw open the RV door.
Cheers behind me, I laugh, glance back, and catch my boot on the edge of the worn welcome mat.
It skids.
I stumble. Arms flail. Gravity wins.
I scream, tumble down the metal steps, lose my Stetson, and brace for impact with the hard-packed dirt.
But strong arms catch me mid-fall. I land against a broad chest that smells like leather, sun, and just a hint of hay for days.
“Easy there, darlin’,” a deep, gravelly voice drawls beside my ear.