Chapter 20 Persistent Assholes
Persistent Assholes
Sawyer
Ibegged Allie to come to meet me at Herds tonight even though she’s been burning the candle at both ends with teaching and using any free time she has to help organize the Cottonwood Creek Fall Fest that’s coming up next weekend.
Tripp and Wes got an invite too. The more, the merrier, and all that.
Now that I can walk across a room without needing a nap, I want to spend a night hanging out with my friends at our favorite bar, maybe do a little line dancing, and have a drink or two.
I will not be spending the night lingering on the conflicting feelings I’m having about Wes.
After spending so much time with him, I find it harder and harder to hate the guy.
Especially after he took care of me and built me a whole new goat enclosure.
But he’s still only here to convince Pops to get rid of the ranch, and. ..
Nope.
I’m not thinking about any of that.
But I am hoping to find Allie someone new to focus her attention on so she can be done with Chase for good.
The guy is a narcissistic asshole, and I don’t trust him as far as I can spit when it comes to how he’ll handle Allie’s heart.
She might say it’s just sex, but she’s never been good at keeping her emotions out of it.
It comes with the territory of having a huge heart.
I scan the crowd, searching for Allie and definitely not hoping to catch sight of Wes. The bar is full, and the dance floor is crowded. I shout my drink order to Paula, the woman working the bar.
A hand lands on my hip as I wait for my drink, and someone crowds me from behind. I try to step away, but his body follows mine. “Sawyer, you’re lookin’ mighty fine tonight.” His hot breath smells like cheap tequila and my stomach sours.
“Kyle, you really don’t know how to take a hint, do you?” I spin toward him, giving him a daggered stare.
“I’m not allowed to talk to you now?” He steps closer and the hand on the small of my back wanders lower.
I don’t have the energy for persistent assholes who don’t take no for an answer.
The lupus flare-up took so much out of me, and I’m still not back to one hundred percent, but this arrogant prick won’t back off until I make him.
“I suggest you kindly remove your hand from my ass, or I’ll remove it for you. ”
He takes his hand off my backside, only to settle it on my hip. My skin heats in agitation. He is not going to ruin my first night out in weeks.
“Come on,” he drawls. “Don’t be like that. You look nice tonight. I was just thinking...”
“I know what you were thinking, and I’m not interested.” I try to step back, but his fingers tighten, holding me in place as he leers down at me.
“And why not?”
“Get your hands off her, Kyle.” The familiar voice sends a jolt through my spine. “She said no, and you’re drunk. Don’t do somethin’ she’s bound to make you regret.”
Kyle backs away with an unattractive sneer. Part of me wants to relax since Kyle’s gone, but that voice in my ear has me on edge, my stomach tight and I feel myself shrinking away, curling in on myself like a petal withered and crushed by the heel of someone’s boot.
I breathe out my nose and remind myself that I’m not the weak thing that I became when I was with the man at my back. That version of me has been dead and gone for years, and I refuse to resurrect her just because Landon fucking Prescott decided to darken my night with his presence.
“Landon, I thought we agreed I got Herds in the divorce,” I say, turning to pin him with a seething glare.
“Sawyer, it’s been a while.” He smiles, all charm without a hint of the guile I know is hiding under the well-polished surface.
Paula sets my drink on the bar, and I swipe it off, sucking it down and signaling her for another.
“Not nearly long enough,” I mutter, searching the crowd once more for Allie so I can signal her to come over here and play referee like she does with her kindergarteners when they get into an argument over crayons, but she’s nowhere to be found.
Great.
"You might want to slow down there, firecracker," he says, eyeing my empty glass with a smirk that makes me want to throw it at his head. Instead, I grip it tighter, hoping the ice will cool my flaring temper.
"Butt out, Landon," I mumble.
“Is it so hard to say thank you when I step in to save you?” He steps closer, lifting his brows in anticipation of words I'm never going to say. As if I owe him something.
I catch movement behind him, and I smile at the murderous expression on Wes’ face. Arms crossed, jaw set, body wound tight like he’s seconds from tearing Landon apart.
God, I love this side of him.
I offer Wes a reassuring look, silently telling him I’ve got this.
Tripp has a hand on his shoulder, whispering something low and warning, trying to keep him from charging across the bar and getting them all kicked out of Herds.
"I don't need you to protect me," I grit out. Paula slips my refill into my hand with a tight smile, eyeing Landon from behind the bar.
"Clearly," he replies, his mouth curling in disdain before he lifts his beer to his lips.
“I was handling it,” I snarl.
Landon smirks, slow and insufferable, crossing his arms like he knows he’s won something. “And I handled it without any bloodshed. I figured you didn’t want to get kicked out of Herds for landing that punch I know you were dying to throw.”
He’s right. And that pisses me off even more.
I take another drink, this time slower, savoring the warmth of it on my tongue—the last one I can have tonight, thanks to the medications that keep my body from attacking itself.
Wes shifts in the shadows, his body strung tight with the need to intervene, to defend me, to do something. But like hell am I going to let two men rescue me in one night.
I take a deliberate step back from Landon, letting my lips curl into something saccharine and mean. “I'd say it's been a pleasure, but then again, you never really knew how to give me much of that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have drinks to down and an ass to shake.”
I say it to get under his skin, to needle him just a little more. Getting drunk isn’t really an option for me anymore, but he doesn't need to know that.
“Jesus, Sawyer. Can’t you just—”
I don’t let him finish whatever it was he was going to say. I'm done with this conversation. Done letting him and Kyle sully a night out. And I'm absolutely done letting Wes stand there and stare daggers at Landon when he could be out on the dance floor with me.
I stalk past Landon and grab a fistful of Wes’ T-shirt, pulling him with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. He doesn't resist, his body following me like he's been waiting for this moment. Like he needs this as much as I do.
I drag him onto the dance floor, where the music is loud and the heat of bodies and the dim glow of neon swallow us whole.
Where Landon ceases to exist, fading into the background like the insignificant mistake he is.
Here it's just me and Wes. I finally allow myself to touch him like I've been dying to, slowly surrendering to the delicious tension that's been crackling between us for weeks.
And thank God. Because if I'm spending my night arguing with anyone, it sure as hell isn't going to be my ex-husband.