Chapter 2
“Listen, dumb fuck, I don’t care who you’re friends with, not a single rodeo title in the world would impress me.
Nor does someone else’s reputation do anything to make you more appealing.
” I try to push past the lanky cowboy, his porcelain white skin and strawberry blond hair standing out against his cuffed maroon short-sleeved polo shirt and tattooed forearms.
“Darlin’, if it ain’t cowboys yer after, then what the hell are ya doin’ in a bar like this?” He waves his hands around, the armpits of his shirt both stained with sweat, and I’m thankful he chose today to over-use his Old Spice cologne.
Good fucking question.
I tear my eyes away from his sweaty pits toward the massive alligator sign on the wall that reads Gator Ray’s.
The bar is a dive, it always has been, and though the less than cared for atmosphere would be off-putting to most, it reminds me to be thankful that I no longer live in a house filled with cigarette smoke and broken dreams.
Tonight, the place has a crowd that seems to have flowed over from a bull riding event.
Buckle bunnies swarm riders in the hopes they can have a taste of their fame, or, at least, what’s below their buckles.
I start to question my decision making skills, since I came here knowing this is always what the bars look like on nights that these events take place. Especially ones as big as PAbrA.
Instead of returning his hands to his own space, he slides his arm forward, twirling his finger in a piece of my hair.
“You look so familiar.” His eyes trace me up and down while I glare at him in disgust. “That’s right, ya look like one of those sexy, little pop stars, Britney something…
No, no, the other one.” His hand glides down the side of my cheek.
“Whatever, the names don’t matter. You’re hot as fuck.
” His finger brushes my collarbone, tracing the strap of my halter top.
“What makes that pretty heart tick?” I cringe at the gesture, his words coming out so slimy it feels like he’s actually drooling.
I grip his finger like it’s a piece of garbage and toss it away from me with force. “I suggest you keep your hands to yourself or I’d be happy to break the next finger that touches me.”
My threat goes ignored, like he finds my lack of consent a game.
His eyes are dark, no definition or personality behind them as he takes another step toward me and reaches out his hand to tuck my hair behind my shoulder.
Like a wolf who just cornered his prey, he bares his teeth into a twisted smile.
The only issue for him is he picked the wrong target.
I decide to let him think he’s won, because nothing is more fun than knocking a cowboy off his high horse, especially one as slimy as this.
I look down, diverting my gaze, pretending his gesture makes me uncomfortable and that I don’t have any fight left in me.
It’s a simple game, really, one where he thinks he gets what he wants just for pushing a little harder, only to find out he’s the one who should be worried.
Disgusting perv. I roll my eyes, breaking character, unable to hide the way he makes me feel, but he’s too caught up in himself—or my cleavage—to notice. He leans in, now pressing his cheek to mine.
Time seems to stand still. Why did I do this again?
Why did I think going out alone was a good idea?
It’s not like this bar is usually crawling with criminals, not that I’d consider this idiot is one.
The only crime he committed is wasting my fucking time.
But no matter how unkempt this place is, I’ve never had too big of an issue with the people who frequent it, until today.
I blow out an irritated huff. I guess you can find a pig anywhere, especially in a place swarming with rodeo swine.
At this point, I’m half-tempted to assume I like the thrill of telling someone to fuck themselves because right now I’m not too sure about whatever the hell I thought made this make sense.
His hot breath hits my ear as he whispers, “Like I told ya, baby, I’m not just friends with the PAbrA champ over there, I’ve got friends in high places.
Winners stick with winners, and it just so happens to be your lucky day.
I might ride bulls, but today I’ll let ya ride me.
I know ya like to put up a fight, tellin’ me where to keep my hands, but imagine where the next finger could go.
” I can’t see his face, but I can only imagine he’s rather happy with himself, thinking he’s going to pull the wool over my eyes and sleep with me.
I truly planned to keep my little game going as long as I could, but as he slides his hand up the side of my thigh, I’ve had enough.
Fuck it.
He stumbles backwards as I shove him off my shoulder, hoping to put some distance between us. His once dark stare changes to shock.
“I’m not sure if this is your attempt at overcompensation for what you don’t have…
” I glance down directly at his dick, raising my eyes back up to his.
“Or if you’re truly just so stupid you think pretending to be friends with some big shot ups your chance at getting in a girl’s pants, but let me give you a word of advice.
” His sly smile fades, as does the cocky air he pretended so hard to have.
“Stop upping that guy’s game.” I point my thumb toward the so-called winner before dropping my hand.
“Beyond you being a disgusting slime ball,” I roll my eyes, before continuing, “you’re doing all the work for him, making yourself look like a freak, and if I were to guess, you can’t even back what you say.
There’s been a shit load of people over there for a while now, and I’ve yet to see you in it. ”
His sulky behavior brings him back down to the level I see when I look at him. Fucking pathetic.
Turning my head towards the obvious group of people to my right, I continue to speak without looking directly at the loser who has occupied far too much of my time. “If you were his pal, I would have found you in his posse, not slithering around doing your best to pretend you’re a member.”
I make eye contact with the guy forming the crowd. A typical cowboy casanova type meets my gaze with shaggy blond hair, tan skin, and teeth so white I can see them beam from across the room. He tips his hat toward me, earning him nothing more than an eye roll and my disgust.
Just another asshole in boots.
I know his type well. Charming, good looking—at least, according to his ego—and obsessed with the color gold. I’d bet he thinks there’s nothing he can’t do, well, besides being a decent human being, and I’ve had all I can take from men like that.
I almost forget I’m by the previous idiot until he lets out a rough sigh that reminds me of his existence. “Yeah, whatever, yer just a dumb bitch.”
Of course his shortcomings would be my fault.
“Right.” I emit the word as if he spent his whole life disappointing me. But the truth is, all men have, particularly one who shouldn’t, my dad. And it’s getting old that none have proven me wrong. “You can go fuck yourself. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna take my bitch ass elsewhere.”
Turning away from him and avoiding the crowd, I do my best to leave.
His bony fingers wrap tightly around my wrist, stopping me from my departure.
“Come on now, don’t be like that, darlin’.
I can forgive just about anythin’ that passes those pretty lips as long as my dick follows.
” The words hiss from his mouth. “I like my women a little rough around the edges, anyway. They’re always more fun in bed. ”
My desire to make a fool of him grows with the intensity of his grip. Ripping my hand from his, I grab a drink off a hightop table that sits near us and splash its entire contents in his face.
“You fucking bitch,” he grumbles out. Anger rises within him and he makes an audible growl, trying to hold back an outburst that would draw more eyes our way.
I could tell him exactly where to shove it, but the effort seems wasted on such a dull excuse for a man.
After all, if my dad taught me one thing, it’s that there’s no point in putting energy into someone you don’t care about—even if they are your own fucking blood.
Telling him he’s an idiot was fun at first, but at this point I just want to escape to a place that doesn’t feel so claustrophobic before I suffocate in this shithead’s presence.
Spinning away from him, I try to leave and am immediately stopped by what feels like a brick wall.
Warm chocolate eyes meet my gaze as I scan the man’s features, landing on a proud shit-eating grin. That same cowboy I just rolled my eyes at from across the room. The big shot, I guess.
“Sorry about that.” His tone is warm, but I can tell he’s not sorry in the slightest. “Everythin’ okay over here?” he asks, making a subtle nod toward the guy who is now drenched in whatever drink I grabbed.
“Everything’s fine,” I say, positioning myself on the other side of him.
Honestly, it’s better than fine, because he now stands between me and the douche bag I’m trying to get away from.
I use this distraction to my advantage. “I was just leaving, your small pecker pal here has been looking for you.” I point toward the guy who never gave me his name.
His cheeks turn a darker shade of red. What was once anger has now seemingly shifted to embarrassment, and I’m not sure if he’s more mad at me blowing his cover or dismantling the little manhood I assume he’s got.
Confusion consumes the big shot when he turns to look at the asshole who grabbed me, but I don’t wait for him to reply. Sliding through the crowd, I make my way out of this hell. For once, thankful that a stupid cowboy stepped in, even if his intention wasn’t to save the day.