4. Lennox
lennox
. . .
I wanted to fuck Bishop Bryant. And not just in a casual, one-night random rendezvous. I wanted everything he’d whispered in my ear and more. I wanted to be wrecked so thoroughly that I didn’t know my name when he was done.
Who’d have known the grumpy cowboy had it in him? I sure didn’t. He showed a side of him tonight that I never knew existed. One I desperately wanted to explore, to see what other sordid things he could come up with in his slutty little mind.
I stood up on the stool to mess with him. Maybe I wanted to piss him off a little, provoke him just a little bit so he would either lighten up or leave me alone. In the end, the result was better than I ever imagined.
After Cleo returned to the table, we sat and watched the concert without much fuss.
I didn’t even finish the beers Cleo brought.
I wanted to go up to the front, to let the vibrations from the speakers run through my body.
Maybe it would kill some of the restless energy consuming me since Bishop whispered in my ear, but Cleo begged to stay.
She said something about having too much to drink and needing to stay by a trash can in case she threw up .
I wasn’t gonna argue with that logic because I definitely didn’t want to be the one dealing with the mess.
Bishop had returned to his seat behind me. I didn’t have to look his way to know he kept his eyes on me. It felt like pinpricks all over my skin, an icy chill forcing all my hair to stand on end, which was annoying, seeing as I’d just shaved.
By the time the band finished, I was ready to crawl out of my skin. It didn’t matter how good the concert was. I couldn’t focus on anything but the way Bishop touched me. Every inch of my body burned, needy and desperate.
“Yeah, you’d thank me for filling you up, killer. It’d turn you on to know I’m leaking out of you whenever some other mother fucker tried talking to you.”
That was the type of talk you read about in books, not from the foreman on your parent’s ranch. I didn’t even know Bishop could string that many words together. He usually kept his conversations as straight to the point as possible—more of a one-word kinda guy.
He didn’t even know that he’d perfectly summed up every filthy fantasy I’d ever had.
I loved rough sex, craved it even, but most of the men I’d been with couldn’t find my clit with a map. They cared more about chasing their own orgasm than helping me reach mine. Then, and possibly the worst part of it all, was how they had the audacity to turn to me and ask if it was good?
Dude, don’t make me laugh. I didn’t even come. Get out of here with that bullshit.
Somehow, though, I knew Bishop was different than the rest. I knew he would be the best sex of my life, which meant it was ridiculously unfair that he was who he was. I mean, there was no way we could sleep together. That would just be stupid. Reckless, even.
Exactly why I wanted to do it .
I saw Bishop talking to one of the ranch hands while they closed their tabs. He’d quickly sought out our ride after Josie and Lincoln left so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later. Thank God for that, because Cleo and I did not have the right mindset to plan shit.
She may have had one too many beers. Or maybe it was the shots? And I’d been dirty talked into a quiet submission. Who knew that was a thing?
I was standing off to the side near the band’s merch table. Cleo had run to the bathroom for what seemed like the tenth time in five minutes. I didn’t know if she was getting sick or had broken the seal too early.
“Come on, come on,” I said, checking my phone. It was only midnight. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve hung around for at least two more hours until the bar officially closed, but not tonight.
Tonight, I was wound up so tight that I knew I’d have to reach into my bedside table for some help before I even had a chance at sleep. It was hard not to think about how unsatisfying my vibrator would be, especially knowing the real thing was so close.
The door behind me opened, letting in a burst of hot Texas summer air. I groaned when it didn’t close immediately, hating how humidity clung to my skin. As if sexual frustration wasn’t enough, now I had to deal with this? “Hey, buddy,” I said, turning around. “Mind keeping that door?—”
My words died when I noticed it was the band's lead singer. He opened the door so his crew could load their instruments inside a large, white trailer. “Shut?” he finished for me, smiling. He was tall, with dark hair plastered against his neck and a thick mustache. I couldn’t remember his name, but it was something Wilde.
It was kinda dumb, but Cleo mentioned it was a stage name.
They’d gone to school together. Seeing how many women were screaming it earlier, I guess it didn’t matter much.
“Maybe if you weren’t standing so close to the band exit, it wouldn’t be a problem. ”
I tapped my chin. “You make a good point. I’ll take it into consideration,” I said, returning his smile. I gestured toward the stage. “Y’all were great up there. It’s been a while since we’ve had a decent live band play.”
“Oh, that’s a damn shame. I got my big break up there. Couldn’t help but come back for the end.”
“The end?” I questioned. Don’t get me wrong, he gave one hell of a performance, but not one that screamed it was the end of his career.
He reached behind him, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’re taking a break for a bit, but I wanted to come back here for a final show. That was the deal. Kind of a full circle moment, ya know?”
“Now, that’s the real shame,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d definitely go to another concert if given the chance.”
The guy was hot; I’d give him that. What struck me as odd was how he didn't look the part despite his music being authentically country. I didn’t know what it was.
His clothes fit the bill—jeans, boots, and a well-loved Brooks and Dunn t-shirt—but there was something about him in general that didn’t seem to match the persona he’d curated.
It was like he thought just because he was from a small country town, he had to act the part, too.
The man smirked, pointing at me. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the barstool girl.”
I grimaced. “Barstool girl? That doesn’t sound very sexy or cool.”
“Ah, you’re right. I should’ve come up with something better.”
“I guess that’s why singers have songwriters,” I laughed. “You just have to have the voice to sing their words. ”
He shifted on his feet. “I’ll have you know I write all my own?—”
“Hey Len, are you ready to?—”
Cleo walked up and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the man standing in front of us. They stood in silence, staring at one another in pure shock.
“Cleo?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I-Is that really you?”
My sister drew her shoulders back, clutching the strap of her purse tighter. “Lawson, right?” There was an edge to her tone I’d rarely heard her use.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he said, dipping his head. “It’s been?—”
Cleo cut him off, turning to me. “Are you ready to go? Bishop is waiting.”
I looked behind her, confused to see Bishop happily talking to the same man he had been earlier. “He’s talking, Cleo. He’s fine.”
“Okay, well, maybe I would like to go,” she said, averting her gaze.
There was a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, some kind of sister intuition that sensed something was wrong. “Yeah, of course,” I said, faking a smile as I turned back to Lawson. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Wait!” he called out, stepping forward once again. I looked down at Cleo, giving her the option to stay or go, but she shook her head. That was enough for me.
As Lawson tried to talk to Cleo, I put one arm around her shoulder and used the other to whistle at Bishop. He looked over, brows furrowed as I waved. “Let’s go!”
“Cleo, wait! Can we talk?” Lawson called out behind us.
“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk, asshole. Take the hint,” I said, pushing my sister through the front doors.
“I just need a moment?— ”
I turned around, pushing Cleo behind me. She stumbled, catching herself on my waist. “Listen, dickwad, I don’t know why she doesn’t want to talk to you, and I don’t care . She. Said. No .” I enunciated each word, making sure to drive my point home.
Lawson dug his heels into the floor, blinking at us with wide eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, forcing it to stand on end. “I just—” he began before promptly closing his mouth.
“Wise choice,” I said, just as a group of fans yelled out his name. They swarmed him, swallowing him in the crowd as I helped Cleo out the front door.
She clutched her chest, sucking in deep breaths that nearly broke my heart.
And then the first tears fell, taking her mascara with them.
“What do you need, babe?” I asked, forcing myself to stand still.
I wanted to draw her close, to comfort her in the way our mom always did—with big, warm hugs and open ears, but stayed where I was.
Cleo wasn’t a fan of being touched unless she initiated it.
She tolerated a lot of it at the best of times because our family was an overly affectionate bunch, but she was different.
And in times like these, when her anxiety was spiraling out of control, I knew going near her would only make things worse.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Bishop asked, storming out of the bar with our ride on his heels.
I stepped in front of him, stopping him before he could make a scene. “I don’t know, but drawing attention to her like the big, dumb, angry brute you are won’t do anything to fix it,” I hissed. “Just leave her alone for a minute. Let her catch her fucking breath.”
Bishop looked like he was ready to argue, but thought better of it. Cleo leaned forward, resting her hands on the railing around the outside patio. She dropped her head and closed her eyes. I could see her lips moving, counting down from ten and then back up to get her breathing under control.
I walked over to Cleo, resting my ass against the post. We stood in silence as I kept watch over her.
She was always the strongest of the three of us, putting us before herself in every situation.
The only time she did anything for herself was when she moved out of town, but I wondered if that hadn’t backfired in some spectacular way.
It wasn’t like she talked to me about anything, and I knew she barely said anything to Josie. Cleo was a vault—locked up tight and refusing to budge.
“Well, note to self… Never suggest going to see a band without learning everyone’s full background information, particularly in relation to my sisters,” I said.
Cleo huffed. “That might be a good idea.”
I kicked a rock beneath my boot, watching it roll across the uneven boards.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” She turned, giving me a look that said, “ What do you think? ” But I just held up my hands.
“Hey, I had to ask. I didn’t know if this was the moment your wall broke and you were ready to let someone in. ”
“I’m not that bad,” she mumbled. “I just don’t have anything worth saying. Our story… I don’t know, Len, it’s complicated.”
“Will you tell me one thing?”
“Maybe.” She cracked a smile. “We’ll see.”
I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Did he… Did he hurt you? Because I swear to God…”
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” she said. Her gaze flitted to the spot where her ring once sat. “He would never.”
“But he did hurt you?”
Cleo was silent for a second. “In a way, yes,” she said with a sigh. “Can we go home? I’m already regretting all the tequila.”
I laughed. “Whatever you want, sis.”