Bad Guy #2
I looked at her. Really looked at her. I had not expected such a noble thing from someone as young as her. Which was stupid on my part, but hey, looks were deceiving.
“That’s a hell of a plan. It sounds like it’ll help a lot of people,” I managed to say.
She smiled once more, warm and full of pride. “Thank you. So, this is the main house. You can stay in one of the rooms here tonight if you want. I don’t suspect things are going to end early.”
I took in the beauty of the place—dark hardwood floors, white walls, and classy rustic undertones—as she led me to one of the rooms on the first floor so I could put my backpack and helmet down before leading me to the backyard.
Outside was a flurry of activity, reminding me of a hive of bees working together.
A handful of guys were setting up tables and chairs around the beautiful backyard.
A flower arch with blush colored roses and hydrangeas along with pops of burnt red, orange and mustard yellow colored flowers I didn’t know the names for stood off to the left, where two women gave directions to a couple guys who were trying to hang a backdrop behind it.
Shit, this place was fancy. Way damn fancier than I was used to. I’d never had money, let alone this kind of money. Somehow, despite the fact that I wore clothes similar to everyone else, I felt so out of place. I was used to worn down apartments and dive bars. Not mansions and bougie fundraisers.
I shook off the insecurity. I bet the tips tonight would be good, at the very least.
“Hey, guys!” Quinn called out, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Can you come over here for a second?”
A tan, tall, bombshell of a girl was the first over, her dark gaze fixing on me with intrigue and a hint of trepidation. She reminded me of the kind of girls in high school who could either make or break you. I wasn’t sure yet if she’d be friend or foe.
The men, at least, were a hell of a lot easier to read. I knew what I looked like, and I wasn’t surprised that a few of them stared at me like I was a juicy piece of meat and they were hungry street dogs. But in the end, their gawking stares weren't what snagged my attention.
“Holy shit, you’re like…scary pretty,” a woman said, coming up to stand beside the taller one who’d first approached. She was pretty and young, but there was a wild look in her eyes that reminded me a bit of, well, me.
An older lady—her mom, probably, as they shared similar features—tsked her, chastising the girl under her breath. “Walker Rose, don’t be rude.”
Walker Rose. What a kick ass name. Naturally, I loved it. I mean, I went by Ollie, after all.
“What? It’s not rude. It’s true,” she said, glancing at me once more.
A smoky laugh fell from my mouth and I placed a hand on my hip as I asked, “Do you mean it’s scary how pretty I am, or that I’m pretty in a scary way?”
Walker’s head tilted to the side for just a second before she shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
I blew out another laugh; I liked her honesty. “I’ll take it as a compliment either way.”
“You guys,” Quinn said, changing the direction of the conversation as she finally managed to get everyone’s attention. “This is Ollie. She’s here to save our asses tonight.”
I smiled and gave a confident wave. Well, with an introduction like that, I couldn’t disappoint.
No pressure, right?
I steeled a breath during a brief lull at the bar and glanced around at the party. I couldn’t imagine coming to something like this as a guest. I’d never been to an event so fancy. Not even a wedding—not that I’d been to many of those.
Moving around so often made making friends difficult—damn near impossible when it came to keeping them.
And with basically no known living family left…
well, let’s just say, there wouldn’t be any family gatherings anytime soon.
So my experiences with something of this caliber were few and far between, to say the least.
I didn’t mind that necessarily, though.
I was a drifter, a lone wolf. I preferred it that way. Just like I preferred to be behind the bar instead of mingling at this swanky fundraiser. Small talk and fake smiles weren’t really my thing. And I wasn’t known to play particularly well with others.
I don’t think I’d seen so many cowboy hats and bolo ties in my life. But two things were for sure, they drank a lot, and tipped well. Like, really damn well.
This had been a good decision.
Grabbing a water bottle from the cooler and placing it to my lips, I noticed a man break off from the group he was with and the woman he’d been next to. He made his way toward me on sure, confident steps.
Well, kill me fucking dead.
He was dressed so obnoxiously over the top that I bit back a bark of laughter, but if anyone could get away with the god awful pink and white paisley suit jacket and white-washed denim jeans it would be him.
He had sandy brown hair—not quite blonde, but not exactly brown either—and a killer porn stache.
He wasn’t my typical brand of poison, but, fuck, I’d always been a sucker for a good stache, and he rocked the hell out of his.
I straightened as he made his way toward me, and the nerve endings in my body tingled to life as he took me in with a mischievous gaze. Oh, this wasn’t some southern gentleman. No, this man was a love ‘em and leave ‘em cowboy that most ladies swooned over.
Good thing I was no lady.
I leaned my hands against the bartop, noting how his gaze dipped to my chest then back up again. He wasn't even trying to be discreet, was he? That’s okay, I liked a man with confidence, little reservations.
He seemed like a fun time.
“Well, damn,” I crooned, “I thought I was the hottest person here tonight, but I think you just might take the cake, cowboy.”
His grin held the power of a goddamn electrical plant. “Aw, don’t beat yourself up, gorgeous, you take a real close second.”
A throaty chuckle fell from my lips, even as one of my brows rose. “Humble, aren’t we? What can I get you—actually, no, let me guess,” I said, wanting to play one of my favorite little games. He seemed the type to appreciate it. “You want a shot of Jack. Nothing top shelf for you.”
His gaze narrowed, out of intrigue or offense I wasn’t entirely sure. “That’s awful presumptive of you, sugar.”
I shrugged, the ghost of a smirk toying on my lips.
Lips I found his gaze falling to before meeting my stare once more.
“Actually it’s pretty calculated. You see, you don’t drink Jack cuz it’s cheap.
You drink it because it reminds you of when you were young and wild and free, partying it up with your boys in some honey hole in the backwoods, passing it around the fire. ”
His lips peeled back into another thousand kilowatt smile, the sight making my breath catch—not that I’d ever admit that aloud.
He was drop dead gorgeous to begin with, but when he smiled…
normally I didn’t go for the golden boy, happy go lucky type.
I tended to go for broodier, angry men, which was probably why I had such shit luck, but this guy… holy fucking shit he was hot.
“Well damn,” he said on a chuckle, “either you’re a fuckin’ mind reader or I’m an open book.”
My lips curved upward as I grabbed a plastic shot glass and a bottle of Jack before pouring it for him. “You’re an open book, sugar.”
His hazel gaze was so intense and white-hot it all but seared me to the bone. “Really?” he asked, grabbing for the shot. “Most find me mysterious.”
Our fingers brushed and if his look was searing, his touch was electric. But he didn’t need to know that. “And I’m fucking Santa.”
He nearly choked on the shot he threw back before falling into a fit of coughing laughter. “Like you are Santa or you’re fuckin him?” he finally asked when he’d managed to recover.
“Ahh the importance of grammar.” I found myself smirking. “Not as dumb as you look, sugar.”
He slapped a hand to his heart, mock anger washing over his handsome features. “Ouch, them's fightin’ words.” He crossed his arms on the bartop, leaning toward me as he pegged me with his intense stare. “If I’m such an open book, tell me somethin’ about me.”
Oh, I loved this game. Living the way I did, never staying in one place for long, meant I met a lot of people.
And the more places I went, the more people I saw, the more I realized there were only so many kinds of people in existence.
None of us were all that different at the end of the day.
If you paid enough attention, you could figure someone out easily enough.
I’d had him pegged from the moment I laid eyes on him, but I could play the game.
Tapping my fingernails on the countertop and sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I pretended to think for a long moment.
“You like to think of yourself as a real cowboy casanova, which is just a nicer way of saying playboy or man whore. You like living life in the fast lane. One step, one day, one fuck at a time.” His gaze flickered and heated, not with anger, but intrigue, sending a rush of excitement rippling through me.
I went on, “You were hurt. I’m guessing a nasty breakup or a first love, maybe?
So now you don't like being tied down because you’re afraid to let yourself be vulnerable and potentially open up to having your heart broken again. ”
Some of the fire died in his eyes and worry swirled to life in me. Shit, had I gone too far?
“Well, damn,” he huffed. “You’re good…too fucking good.”
Okay, so maybe I hadn’t gone too far.
“Now it’s my turn,” he replied, determination ringing in his words.
I bit back a curse. This was a fun game to play with others, but not when it got turned back around on me.
But honestly, I doubted he could figure me out that easily.
Almost no one did. And if they actually did, I was usually long gone by the time they came to that conclusion. “Go on, I’m listening.”