Chapter 2
Chapter Two
CASSIE
The opening band’s playing, and I let myself settle into it—beer in hand, music drifting over the crowd.
I’m people-watching again, trying to act like I don’t feel wildly out of place.
An older couple walks past me, and for some reason, I catch the woman’s eye. Blonde. Warm. A little buzzed.
“You here by yourself, honey?”
“Me? Oh, yeah. Just fine.”
She tilts her head. “You look a little lost.”
“I’m on a…personal growth thing.”
“Ah.” She smiles, her tattooed, gray-haired husband hovering beside her.
“Just got out of something,” I add. “Taking a break from men.”
I glance at him. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he says, lifting his beer.
The woman laughs. “He doesn’t offend easily. If he did, we wouldn’t have made it thirty years.”
He clears his throat. “I was kind of an ass when we met.”
“Kind of,” she echoes, amused.
Then she looks back at me.
“Funny thing is,” she says, almost to herself, “the ones you try not to want are always the ones your body picks.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well—my body’s on probation.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, like she doesn’t believe me for a second. “Anyway, enjoy your night, honey.”
The strangers wander off, and I take a sip of my beer.
And then my gut clenches.
I sense him before I see him.
The cowboy is back.
He’s standing six feet away, staring. Again.
I raise an eyebrow. “What is it this time? Ketchup on my face again?”
He chuckles. “Nah, nah. I just figured I missed the contest.”
I squint. “Contest?”
“The beauty contest.” He shrugs. “Or do I just get to meet the winner?”
I blink. Then snort. “Wow. Do lines like that actually work?”
“They do when they’re true. You look great when your face is ketchup-less.”
Okay, now he’s smiling for real. Not the cocky smirk from earlier. The kind that makes my stomach flutter like I swallowed bees.
“I’m just here for the Dust Devils,” I say, attempting cool. “The hot dogs were delicious, though.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
“‘Midnight Whiskey.’”
He winces like I slapped him. “Noooo. That’s the worst one.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“It’s their most overplayed song. That and ‘Boots by the Bed.’”
I fold my arms. “Both bangers. You clearly have no taste.”
“I have excellent taste.” His eyes drag down my body—slow, appreciative, and infuriatingly confident. “Case in point.”
My cheeks burn.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?”
“Flirt like that. Like it’s your job.”
He leans in just a little, voice low. “You think I flirt like this with everyone?”
I stare at him. Hard.
Because my body? My body is starting to agree with him. The stranger’s words linger in my ear. My body wants to lean closer, grab his shirt, and find out what his mouth tastes like under a starry sky.
But my brain—bless her—is still holding the line.
“Look,” I say, stepping back. “I’m flattered. But I’m not…I’m not in the market for men right now. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m just on a break.”
His smile doesn’t falter. “A break. From men.”
“Right.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to one. No harm in that.”
I open my mouth, then close it. My gut does a somersault.
“I’m just trying to keep things…clean,” I say, immediately regretting the word choice.
His eyebrow twitches. “Clean, huh?”
“I mean—” I wave my beer around like that’ll help. “Emotionally. Like, boundaries and stuff.”
“Right, okay. Clean,” he drawls, his eyes dancing.
“What’s so weird? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like I was thinking any dirty thoughts.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I should definitely not have said them.
He puts his palms up. “You just keep digging yourself a hole, here. I’m trying to keep it classy, and you tell me you’re not having dirty thoughts. Well, I definitely am, now. Thanks to you.”
“Can we just pretend I didn’t say that?” I exhale hard through my nose. “No flirting. No…anything that leads to getting dirty.”
His lips curve into a grin that could melt asphalt. “So you are having dirty thoughts already? I mean, I usually don’t move that fast. Even for a stunner like yourself.”
My entire face catches fire.
“Enjoy the concert,” I blurt, mortified, and turn away before he can respond. “I have to go find my friends.”
I walk fast, heart thundering, brain screaming.
God. Why did I say that?
Getting dirty? Really, Cassie?
I need a time machine. Or a brain replacement. Or maybe just another beer. From a different beer stand. Not this one.
My flirting is so rusty, all it took was one—albeit an extremely handsome—man to jam my system.
I head to a different beer stand on the far side of the field, trying to outrun the embarrassment still burning my skin.
This one’s quieter. Shadier. Safer, I tell myself.
Until he shows up.
It’s not the cowboy this time. It’s a different guy.
Wasted. Stumbling. Loud. The kind of guy who thinks shouting is flirting and touching is his right.
He’s yelling at the security guards, trying to start something. They ignore him. I don’t. I try to shrink back, eyes glued to the tap list.
“Hey, hot stuff,” he slurs, wobbling over. “Lemme buy you a drink. Or maybe just take you home and skip the middleman.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I mutter, stepping away.
He follows me, close on my heels. Too close.
Then his hand brushes my hip.
I jerk away. “Hey. Don’t touch me.”
He laughs. “Relax, sweetheart.”
“No,” I snap. “Seriously. Don’t.”
He reaches again, fingers grazing my side, and I scream.
Not dramatic. Not even that loud. Just sharp, primal, and immediate.
Next thing I know, he’s on the ground.
Someone clocked him, hard.
One punch. That’s all it takes.
I spin around, and it’s him.
My apparently not-so-clean cowboy.
Chest heaving. Jaw tight. Eyes wild. “Shit. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.”
My eyes lock with the stranger’s. His brow is glistening with sweat, his hat off now.
Two security guards appear, but instead of grabbing him, they look down at the groaning creep and just…shrug.
“He’s been a problem all night,” one of them mutters. “Guess he found someone who solved it. You see anything, Elliot?”
“Nah. Musta just fallen ‘cuz he’s so drunk.”
By the time I turn to thank him, he’s already walking away.
No name. No goodbye. Just the back of his broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd again.
Like some kind of dusty avenger in denim Levi’s.
And I just stand there, stunned, clutching my untouched beer and wondering what the hell just happened.