1. Sally
CHAPTER 1
Sally
KING OF HEARTS
PRESENT DAY - NOVEMBER
Checking out the cowboy across the bar, I have one thought and one thought only— Damn, I’ve missed this .
Thick, tan, tattooed forearms rippling with muscle and crisscrossed with large veins—check.
Stetson and a pair of broken-in Wranglers, which are topped off with a clean white tee that stretches across his broad chest and shows off his enormous biceps—check.
Scruffy, obscenely handsome smirk— check .
My heart flutters when he looks up from chatting with the gorgeous blonde at his elbow and turns that smirk on me. This cowboy is the complete opposite of the serious, seriously entitled guys I went to college and veterinary school with, and I am here for it.
Maybe that’s why I’m in the middle of the longest sexual drought of my life. Up until this summer, I wasn’t hanging out with any cowboys.
The cowboys I grew up with are generous and honest to a fault. They say what they mean, and they don’t play games. They certainly don’t make you feel self-conscious, like you’re asking for too much or you’re not cute or cool enough. Having lived in a handful of different places over the course of my studies, I’ve learned how rare that kind of man is.
The cowboy across the bar holds up his first two fingers in his approximation of a wave. “Hey, Sunshine.”
I manage a smile, my face burning. “Hey, Wyatt.”
You’d think I’d be immune to my best friend’s extreme hotness by now, even though I’ve been away from Hartsville more often than not over the past decade. He and I have been friends for—goodness—over twenty years now. Wyatt Rivers should be like a brother to me.
Only the raging crush I’ve had on him since the second I hit puberty makes my feelings for him anything but fraternal.
The supermodel type beside him hanging on his every word is Exhibit A as to why I’ve never acted on those feelings. Wyatt is way, way out of my league. He was always Mr. Popularity, star of our high school baseball and football teams, while I was the nerd who played violin, had braces, and spent her free time assisting her dad, a veterinarian, with calls on ranches across the county.
Wyatt is also very much a free spirit. Or playboy, depending on who you ask.
He’d be the perfect hookup, if only he wasn’t my best friend. I don’t have time for a boyfriend; last week, I was offered my dream job in Ithaca, New York, so I’m not sticking around in Hartsville. But while I’m here, I’d like to be able to get out of my head and have some really great sex—work out some of the frustration I’ve felt lately about, well, everything.
My experience in that department has been lackluster at best.
I lost my virginity at twenty-one to my boyfriend at the time, and the sex was unexciting to say the least; I only orgasmed when I took care of it myself. He blamed me, saying he’d “be more into it” if I was adventurous and lost a few pounds .
The next guy I dated insisted I always went down on him, but he never returned the favor.
“I just don’t love it,” was his explanation, which made me feel like the grossest, unsexiest person alive.
Was my body really that much of a turn-off?
The last boyfriend I had—this was during my residency about a year ago—didn’t seem interested in having sex with me at all. When we did hook up, it was always quick and to the point. I tried to be adventurous with him—tried to incorporate more playfulness, more foreplay—but he always said he was “too tired,” thanks to the round-the-clock rigors of our program. Which I didn’t entirely understand because I was in the same program and I was tired, too, but never too tired to have sex. His lukewarm reaction made me feel pretty shitty about myself.
Years of disappointing experiences have left me feeling anxious and excruciatingly self-conscious when I’m with men. I feel like I need to constantly watch what I say, what I wear, what I eat. If I could be a little less of this , a little of more that , maybe the magic will finally happen.
It hasn’t, and now my confidence is hanging by a thread. It’s gotten to the point that I’m so self-conscious around guys I end up overthinking myself out of a great time. I try so hard to be what I think a guy wants that I can barely talk to someone, much less hit on them. I don’t enjoy sex because I’m always in my head about whether or not he’s enjoying it. At some point, I just gave up trying to date.
But now it’s been almost a full year since I’ve done anything with a member of the opposite sex, and I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. A vibrator can only get you so far. I’m legitimately worried I’ve forgotten how to kiss someone. I know I’ve forgotten how to pick someone up.
Most of all, I’ve forgotten how to have fun .
I put on a smile when Tallulah—The Rattler’s owner and bartender—hands me a spicy margarita on the rocks, the glass rimmed with just the right amount of Tajín.
“How’d you know I wanted?—”
“The Tajín?” Tallulah glances over her shoulder at Wyatt. “Lover boy over there ordered it for you.”
Rolling my eyes, I bite back a smile. “Of course he did. Here’s my card. You can keep it open?—”
“He took care of that too.” She waves away my card. “C’mon, Sally. You’ve been back for months now. You oughta know that man isn’t gonna let you pay for a damn thing while you’re here.”
And this is why I often wonder if my standards for men are just too high. Has Wyatt, with his forearms and his Stetsons and his generosity, ruined me for everyone else?
I’ve been living in New York for the past three years, where I did my residency in large animal surgery at Ithaca University. Before that, I’d attended veterinary school in Chicago, and before that, I’d completed my undergraduate degree in Waco. Guys bought me drinks in those places, but they did it with the implied expectation that we’d have sex, or I’d at least go down on them. But of course my orgasm was an afterthought, if they thought about it at all.
Cowboys are a different breed. Makes me wonder what the hell I’m gonna do when I move back to New York at the end of December. When I completed my residency at the Ithaca University Hospital for Animals back in May, I applied for my dream job to be a surgeon there. Dad and I always talked about how great it would be to work at a university, where I could practice and teach, maybe even do the kind of research that would lead to breakthroughs in the field. In the meantime, I returned to Hartsville without the job offer to figure out my next steps.
I’d missed Texas like crazy over the years, so I didn’t mind moving home, even if it meant living with my parents. I love my hometown. I also love the veterinary work I’ve gotten to do alongside Dad in the area.
But when my adviser called me earlier this week and offered me the job at Ithaca University, I immediately accepted it, even though the conversation gave me a stomachache. The pay is great, the position is prestigious, and it will set me up as one of the top equine surgeons in the nation. The job security alone is worth it. Never mind the real impact I can make there—from performing life-saving surgeries to teaching others how to provide top-notch veterinary care. Dad said it was his dream to be that kind of groundbreaking surgeon, but his grades weren’t good enough to make it happen. It’s one of his biggest regrets.
I start January 1. Which means I only have so many ladies’ nights at The Rattler left. Only so many days to get my cowboy fix so I can go back to Ithaca University sated and steady, ready to live out my dreams.
In other words, getting this job offer has kicked my search for no-strings-attached fun with cowboys into high gear.
It’s also brought my anxiety to new heights, but I think once I get cute guys in Wranglers out of my system, I’ll be ready to move back to New York.
I’ll finally feel excited about the next chapter in my life. Love is something I’m definitely looking for in the long-term. When I think about my future, I always picture having a partner in life. Someone to help shoulder life’s burdens and celebrate its joys. Someone to start a family with and grow old with.
In the meantime, though, I just need to blow off some steam.
“Thank you for the drink,” I call over to Wyatt, even as I give him a pointed look.
He just shrugs, still smirking. “It’s ladies’ night. Cheers, Sally.”
“Cheers. ”
It’s a Tuesday night at The Rattler, Hartsville’s one and only dive bar. It’s our only bar, period, which is why there’s already a crowd here at half past five.
The space, with its sticky floor and clapboard walls and ceiling, buzzes with conversation, country music pumping through the speakers. I know I’m biased, but the vibe in here is unlike anything I’ve experienced anywhere else. There’s this energy in the air, this sense of anticipation, that makes you feel like you’re about to have a damn good time.
Ladies’ night has been a time-honored Tuesday night tradition at The Rattler for as long as I can remember. Tallulah marks the occasion with half-priced tequila drinks.
I don’t always make it out. Our days begin early; Dad has coffee going by four, and we’re usually out the door not long after that, on our way to the first of many appointments and calls he’ll get.
By the time supper rolls around at five p.m., I’m beat. But tonight, my libido won out over my exhaustion. I’m not going to scratch my fun-with-a-cowboy itch if all I do is work and sleep. And being around Wyatt more often than not—he’s a cowboy on Lucky River Ranch, where Dad cares for the herd and the horses—has taken my sexual frustration to new heights.
Sipping my margarita, I watch Wyatt make the pretty blonde laugh while simultaneously buying another girl—this one a redhead—a drink. He’s smiling, a Shiner Bock in his hand, as a third girl approaches him. They clearly know each other. Wyatt smiles, says something that makes her giggle, and then wraps her in a tight, flirty hug, the kind that has her going up on her tiptoes to plaster her body against his.
To be fair, he is a tall guy—six-two—with long legs and the kind of pecs that would make a Hollywood casting director cry. At five-three, I basically have to leap into the air to give Wyatt a hug.
The woman holds him for a beat too long before stepping back, her hand lingering on his chest, his arm lingering around her waist.
He talks. She keeps giggling. The other two women wait patiently for him to return his attention to them at the bar.
Really, Wyatt got this sunshine thing all wrong. He’s the one who’s the sun. The rest of us just float in his orbit, waiting our turn to bask in his warmth and attention.
I watch in wonder as he seamlessly brings the third girl into his conversation with the first two. Now Wyatt is telling a story, and all the girls are giggling. The blonde playfully slaps his shoulder, and he responds with a flirty nudge of his elbow.
The man is a master.
He’s fun without being cheesy. Forward without being creepy. There’s an ease to the way he casts his spell over these women, a confidence in his movements, that’s epically, lethally sexy.
Wyatt is getting laid tonight, no question. Ignoring the twist of jealousy in my gut at the idea of him taking any of these women home, I force myself to look away.
Lucky for me, my friend Mollie—who also happens to be Mom and Dad’s employer, as she’s the owner of Lucky River Ranch—picks that moment to walk into The Rattler. Cash—her fiancée and Wyatt’s older brother—is right behind her.
Like usual, Mollie is dressed to the nines in a miniskirt and metallic-purple cowboy boots.
And like usual, Cash drapes an arm over her shoulders, letting everyone in the bar know she’s taken.
Smiling, I wave at them. You’d never know from the lovey-dovey way they act now that a few short months ago, they absolutely hated each other’s guts. Amazing how quickly things can change.
“I’m sorry he’s here.” Mollie aims a smile at Cash. “I know it’s supposed to be girls’ night?—”
“But somebody’s gotta make sure no one bothers y’all.” Cash’s voice is gruff, but his eyes are soft as he looks down at Mollie.
When I decided earlier this afternoon that I’d find a second wind and give ladies’ night a try, I asked Mollie to be my wingwoman. She landed a hot cowboy, so I figure I have something to learn from her. She and I have gotten close since I’ve been home. Plus, she’s always down to have a good time.
“Pretty sure that’s why Sally’s here, Cash.” Mollie tilts her head. “To get bothered by hot guys.”
“I’ll make sure they’re the right kind of hot guys then.” Cash glances across the bar at Wyatt and shakes his head. “My brother sure as hell ain’t one of ’em. Who’s he talking to?”
Mollie squints. “Don’t know. Flavors of the day, I guess.”
“Of the hour, more like it,” Cash murmurs.
I smile tightly at the oldest Rivers brother. “Please tell me you have some friends you can introduce me to.”
Stepping away from Cash, Mollie loops her arm through mine as she surveys the crowd. “There’re some cute ones here tonight.”
“Hey,” Cash says.
Mollie just waves him away. “Oh, please, you and I both know you’re the cutest of them all. The grumpiest, too, but that’s neither here nor there.”
She’s not wrong. I love Cash dearly, but he definitely growls a lot.
I will say, he’s been almost pleasant—pleasant for Cash anyway—ever since he and Mollie got together.
See? That’s the power of good sex. Love too, I guess, but let’s not put the cart before the horse.
I need a fuck that’s not fictional, as rude as that sounds. I need to take advantage of being in such close proximity to so many gorgeous guys with big hands and bigger…hearts. All of a sudden, I have an end date for my stay in Texas, so it’s time to make shit happen .
A gust of cool air hits the back of my legs. I turn to see a broad-shouldered man in a cowboy hat and a striped button-up stride into the bar.
My stomach dips. It’s Beck Wallace, a horse trainer who works on his family’s ranch about twenty miles away.
He’s really, really handsome. He’s not as tall as the Rivers boys, but he’s still tan, ripped, and wearing a Stetson. He’s got a head full of dark, thick hair and a scruffy beard-mustache situation going on.
When he smiles at me, I feel sparks catch inside my skin.
I also feel myself already getting inside my head. Do I play hard to get, or do I go right up and talk to him? Would he be into a girl with that kind of confidence? Or would he want a nice girl, one he got to chase?
All these questions—along with my desire to put on the perfect performance—fill me with anxiety. Our interaction hasn’t even happened yet, and I’m already dreading it.
I already feel…defeated, and kinda dead inside.
Mollie pulls me closer. “Ask and you shall receive. C’mon. Let’s go say hello.”
Before I can respond, she’s pulling me toward Beck.
He and I grew up running in the same circles, but because his family’s ranch is in a different town, we didn’t go to the same school. We were only officially introduced a month or so ago, when Beck came to deliver a horse to Lucky River Ranch that Cash had purchased. I immediately developed a little crush on him.
Beck’s a charming guy. He’s also a rock star at his job. After I examined the horse Cash had bought, it was clear that Beck and his family bred some of the finest quarter horses this side of the Rockies.
I should not be this nervous to run into him. Then again, I’m nervous around all guys. Except Wyatt, of course. But he doesn’t count. I think I’ve internalized the idea that because Wyatt is so much hotter than me, so much cooler, I don’t have a shot in hell of ever catching his eye. Which means I can just be myself around him. I’m not at all self-conscious around him. I don’t second-guess myself the way I am right now.
It helps that Wyatt and I grew up together. There’s a level of comfort between us, of camaraderie, that I hope will never ever go away.
I manage a smile as Beck holds out an arm, clearly inviting me in for a hug.
“Hey, darlin’! How you been?”
A million thoughts whip through my head as I look up into his green eyes. What did that blonde do again with Wyatt? Do I press my boobs against Beck’s chest? What if the boobs are too much? I feel like he’d be into boobs. What guy isn’t? I don’t want to give him the wrong idea though. But, wait, I actually do want to give him that idea. Isn’t that why I’m here? I can’t always be the nice girl—nice girls don’t get laid. But if I don’t play the nice girl, will he want to see me again?
Mollie is looking at me expectantly.
“Hey there.” My scalp prickles with heat as I try my best to mimic the blonde’s smooth, easy, flirty hug. I move forward, reaching up, and Beck immediately recoils.
“Ow.”
I look down to see that I’m stepping on his foot. Both feet actually.
Great freaking start.
My face is on fire as I jump away. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry?—”
“Don’t sweat it. You’re not doing The Rattler right if your boots don’t get a little scuffed up from being knocked around.”
“Amen.” Mollie cuts me a look. “I hope that means we’ll be seeing you on the dance floor, Beck? Sally gets a break tonight from being the star of the show.” She nods to the empty stage on the other side of the bar .
My mom is the drummer for Frisky Whiskey, a local band that plays here every Friday night. When I’m in town, I moonlight as a backup singer and violinist.
“Hardly the star,” I reply.
“I’ve seen you up there, doing your thing. You’re great.” Beck is still smiling at me—a good sign. “I don’t have a musical bone in my body, so I’m always so impressed when people can sing or play an instrument.”
I swallow, thank you on the tip of my tongue. But a bit of Tajín gets stuck in my throat. Suddenly, I’m choking, my eyes watering as I sip more tequila in an effort not to cough.
But, oh, do I cough. Loud enough that I catch Wyatt looking up from his threesome—or it’s a foursome, I guess, if you include him—and scrunching his brow while mouthing, You okay?
I hold up my thumb. “All good. Just went down the wrong pipe.”
“You really all right?” Beck’s eyebrows are pulled together. “I can get you some water if you need it.”
I shake my head. “Water’s the last thing I need.”
“You sure?”
“Well, yeah.” I suck down the dregs of my margarita, all the while wondering at what point interacting with men had become the opposite of fun. “I’m clearly a mess, so I probably need something a little stronger. You know, to, um…”
“Loosen up a little?” Mollie looks at me.
The sympathy in her eyes makes me wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
“Yes, that. Exactly. It’s been a long day. I mean, we’ve all had long days, am I right? Because days here are long. And hard. Not that there’s anything wrong with long and hard things. I just—oh. Oh wow, that…came out wrong. I was just trying to say that, sometimes, I enjoy things because they’re long and also hard?— ”
“How about we get you another margarita?” Mollie begins pulling me back toward the bar before offering Beck a smile. “We’ll be right back.”