2. Violet
Chapter 2
Violet
I’m takin’ you home.
T he smoking hot bartender in the black cowboy hat gazes at me, sending goosebumps straight through my entire body. He has to feel this, too. If he doesn’t, then I must be crazy.
He's the kind of man who turns heads without trying. Tall and rugged, his lean, muscular build hints at years of hard work. Dark hair curls slightly at the edges beneath a well-worn black cowboy hat, the brim casting just enough shadow to make his warm hazel eyes even more striking. They hold a quiet intensity that could strip a person bare with just one look.
Dressed in faded jeans that cling just right and a black shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, he has a raw, effortless confidence. The sleeves hug his biceps, the fabric shifting over his trim torso with each measured movement. When he tips his hat, a slow, knowing smile plays at his lips—just enough to make a woman wonder what secrets he keeps. I’ve never met anyone like him before.
Boots scuffed, the scent of leather and cedar lingering around him, he carries himself with the easy swagger of a man who knows exactly who he is. Dangerous in all the best ways, with a voice like smooth whiskey and a touch that could burn or soothe, depending on his mood.
I’m not much of a one-night stand kind of girl, but this feels like my one chance to live wild and on the edge for once. One kiss has never turned me on this much.
That was the hottest kiss. I can still feel the tingle of his close-cut stubble from his beard on my face, and I want to reach out and trace the small scar on his jaw with my fingertips. Kissing total strangers isn’t a habit, but something about this guy is familiar, even though I don’t know him and have never seen him before in my life. Somehow, he feels comfortable. Safe.
And hell yeah, I asked if he wanted to get out of here. If he booked a spaceship to the moon, I’d sign up to go with him right now.
My body still tingles where his hands held me, and my ear buzzes from when he murmured his sexy words and went along with my crazy plan to make the boys go away. Truth be told, I could’ve handled them. I heard their plans, and I was never interested. Another cowboy caught my eye. I’d say I won the bet.
I lean back and gaze into his eyes. My momma always told me you can trust a man who has good intentions by looking into his eyes when he speaks to you. The eyes don’t lie. People can talk a good game, but the eyes are the window to the soul. And that’s how you find out if they have a good one or not. And right now, I feel like this one is a good one. I’d be willing to put money on that fact if I were a betting woman. Which usually, I’m not.
And when I look into this sexy man’s eyes, they’re kind, warm, and reassuring. Very unlike what I’m used to from men. With only two long-term relationships under my belt, and the last one not ending so great, this is new for me.
But his eyes, and the way my body practically vibrates after he touches me, tell me that this is somehow the right course to be on. None of it makes sense, and I don’t even know how I got to this moment, but here we are.
I tilt my head up and meet his gaze, a slow smile spreading across my lips. “So, what do you say, cowboy?” I ask, my voice low and hopeful.
He doesn’t answer right away, glancing over at the other bartender instead. They exchange a wordless look, a silent conversation that only friends working together for years could perfect. The other bartender gives a quick nod and returns to cleaning up the bar, though his gaze flicks back in our direction, full of curiosity. I don’t miss it, even as focused as I am on this man in front of me and the weight of anticipation settling between us on where we’re going with this.
“Wait right here for me, darlin’,” he says as his warm eyes lock onto mine before he strolls over to where I was sitting and grabs my purse off the table. He stops when one guy says something to him that I can’t hear. At first, they’d been harmless, but then one kept overstepping, and then when I told him I wasn’t interested, I changed it up and told him I was with the bartender. I figured it would get him off my back.
But I didn’t miss how the sexy bartender kept his eye on me all night. Not in a creepy way, but more in a protective way. The kind of guy you’d feel safe around. And then the way he kissed me? Hot as hell. I’ve never kissed like that before. Tonight is a night of many firsts, and I’m nervous and excited. I left Nashville on a mission to find myself again. A night with a hot, sexy cowboy might just be exactly what I need. And judging by the way he looks at me, it might be exactly what he needs, too.
I’ve been trying to figure out how old he is. I can’t tell for sure, but he seems older than me. His hazel eyes look like the color of whiskey I was drinking. And I can’t take my eyes off him.
“This way,” he says as he grabs my hand, breaking me out of my trance as he guides me through the bar and out the back door. The crisp, cool spring air hits me in full force, and I shiver as I follow him to his truck.
It’s exactly what I would expect from him. Big, black, with a push bar on the front. Dressed head-to-toe in black, it suits him. Everything about this man is rugged, and intense in a way that draws me in. He’s got the whole dark and mysterious thing down.
I wait beside the truck, my fingers curled into my palms, trying not to look at him as he rounds the hood. The night air is thick, charged with something unspoken, something I couldn’t fully describe. But I feel it—heavy in my chest, warm in my stomach.
When he reaches my side, he doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches past me, his broad frame so close that I catch the faintest whiff of cedar and leather, the scent of him wrapping around me like a slow, deliberate tease.
The door opens, and finally, he glances down at me, those warm hazel eyes flickering in the dim light.
“Need a hand?” His voice is smooth and steady, with just enough rasp to make me shiver.
I could have said no. I should have. But instead, I nod, my breath catching as his hands come to my hips—big, strong hands that settle against me like they belong there.
Heat surges through me, sharp and sudden, as he lifts me effortlessly. For a moment, I lose myself in the press of his grip, the way his fingers curl just right, the warmth of his touch burning straight through my jeans.
I grab onto his forearms without thinking, feeling the strength beneath his shirt, the flex of muscle as he hoists me up into the seat. For a second, just before he lets go, his thumbs brush the bare sliver of skin between my waistband and shirt, a whisper of contact that sends a shock wave through me .
Then, just as quickly, he pulls back.
I barely have time to catch my breath before he leans in again.
The cab feels smaller, the space between us nonexistent as he reaches for the seatbelt. My pulse stutters, my eyes locking onto the way his fingers move—slow, methodical, careful. He isn’t touching me, not really, but I feel him everywhere.
The belt slides across my torso, the buckle clicking into place with a sharp finality.
My breath tangles in my throat.
His face is so close now that if I shifted just a little, I’d brush against the rough stubble on his jaw. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something but thinks better of it.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sound is the soft hum of the night around us, the distant chirp of crickets, the wild pounding of my heartbeat.
His gaze drops—just for a second—to my mouth.
Then he exhales, slow and measured like he’s fighting something. Like he feels it, too.
“Safe now,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher.
And then he’s gone, stepping back, shutting the door with a quiet click.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Because if that was just him helping me into a damn truck, I’m not sure how I’ll survive whatever comes next.
Without a word, he rounds the truck and climbs behind the wheel. The engine growls as he adjusts the controls, cranking up the heat. Then, as if he could read my mind, he reaches into the back seat and hands me a jacket. Black, of course, and soft as butter. I slide it on over my leather jacket that is cute but not warm. He doesn’t say a word, the simple gesture carrying more weight for me than it probably should. I’m not used to having a man care about me in little ways like this and anticipate my needs. Let alone a man I just met.
“I…I don’t ever do this,” I stammer, nerves starting to take over as I rub my palms together and slide my arms into the jacket. It smells like him, and I hope he never wants it back because I want to keep it forever.
“Do what, Red?” he asks as his lip twitches.
And I want to kiss him again.
Red.
It's not a new nickname that I haven’t heard all my life with my red hair, but somehow, him calling me Red is sexy as hell. I like the sound of it on his lips.
“I mean…do you do this…often?” I ask, not wanting to be a notch on his bedpost. “I’m not judging, just wondering,” I add nervously.
“You’d be the first,” he says, his eyes on me, and surprise fills me at his honestly. Suddenly, I realize he might be just as nervous as I am. His eyes say it all. I’m telling you; it’s always the eyes that give away a person’s emotions.
He glances back over at me. “You make a habit of picking up random men and making them your fake boyfriends?”
I snort. “I’ve never gone home with anyone before or had a fake boyfriend,” I admit as I bite my lip nervously, a habit I know I need to stop. I’m also so nervous that I keep rambling.
“Where’s home?” he asks as he stares at my lips for a beat, then his gaze meets my eyes.
“I’m staying at the Dogwood,” I say, and he slowly blinks, and then looks away. I can’t read his expression, but something in him has shifted. It’s like he’s reconsidering whether he wants to do this or not, and my heart drops with disappointment, the feeling of rejection creeping in.
“I’ll take you home, Red,” he says softly as he puts the truck in gear and looks behind him, the scruff of his jaw sexy and dark.
I wonder what it would feel like on my skin again. What his lips would feel like on my body. My hand goes to my lips, where I still taste him and the last of the whiskey I downed hours ago. I rarely drink, and tonight was an exception. I prefer to be sober and, in my head, writing songs whenever I can, and I don’t like the way I feel when I’ve had too much to drink. But tonight, I felt like having fun and fun is what I had, that’s for sure. It was fun while it lasted, I guess.