WINNIE
Handsy and complimentary
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"What the Lord has blessed, let no man put asunder." – Unknown (But Tonight, We're Testing It)
***
The bar had dissolved into a haze of neon lights and body heat. The band had packed up twenty minutes ago, leaving the jukebox to croon out low, twangy ballads that made the air feel thick and sticky with secrets.
I had lost count of my drinks somewhere around the third tequila shot Cassie had slid across the wood with a wink.
Now, the floor was doing a slow, rolling tilt beneath my boots, like I was standing on the deck of a ship in a gentle storm.
I knew I was a lightweight but then again, I kind of exaggerated.
Beau was the anchor. His arm was a heavy, solid band around my waist, keeping me upright as he steered us through the thinning crowd. He smelled incredible—like expensive whiskey, cedar, and the clean sweat of a man who’d spent the night marking his territory on the dance floor.
“Winnie,” he murmured, his mouth close enough that his breath ghosted over my ear. “On a scale of one to ten, how much is the room spinning right now?”
I squinted up at him. His face was a little blurry, but the important parts were there: the sharp jawline, the blue eyes darkened by the dim light, the mouth that I had spent the last hour staring at.
“Define ‘spinning,’” I slurred, poking a finger into the center of his chest. It was hard. Like, rock hard. I poked it again for science. “If one is ‘solid ground’ and ten is ‘tornado,’ I’m at a solid… eight. Maybe an eight-point-five. But a fun eight-point-five.”
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated straight through his ribs and into my fingertips. “A fun eight-point-five. Right. You were doing interpretive dance moves during that last song. I think you tried to dip me.”
“I was leading!” I protested, leaning into him because standing up straight was becoming a chore. “You’re just… you’re very tall. It’s a logistical issue.”
“It’s a gravity issue.” His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me flush against his side. “Come on, tornado. Let’s get you home before you challenge the pool table to a fight.”
Cassie materialized out of the gloom, looking rumpled and victorious. She smelled like lime juice and bad decisions. “She alive?”
“She’s an eight-point-five,” Beau reported dryly.
“Perfect.” Cassie grinned, leaning in to whisper loudly to me. “He’s got the ‘I want to protect you’ eyes, Win. That’s the danger zone. Climb him like a tree.”
“Cassie!” I hissed, though it came out more like a giggle.
“Just saying. Use the momentum.” She patted Beau’s cheek. “Get her home, Sterling. If you drop her, I will end your bloodline.”
“Understood.”
Pops was waiting by the door, chatting with Jerry the bartender. He tossed Beau the keys to the truck without missing a beat. “Take the truck, son. I’m catchin’ a ride with the Millers; they’re goin’ our way. Don’t worry about mornin’ chores. Just… handle it. Elise and I shouldn’t be long.”
Pops gave me a quick, hard hug. “Drink water, kiddo.”
“Love you, Pops,” I mumbled into his flannel shirt.
Then we were outside, and the cool night air slapped me. The gravel crunched loudly under my boots, and I stumbled. Beau caught me instantly, swinging me around so my back hit the passenger door of the truck.
He didn’t move away. He stayed right there, caging me in with his arms on either side of the window frame.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
I looked up at him. The moonlight washed out the colors, turning him into shadows and sharp angles. “I’m fine. I just… I don’t want the night to end.”
“It’s not ending,” he said. “It’s just moving locations.”
“Beau!”
The voice cut through the air. Tyler.
He was leaning against his truck three spots over, a beer in hand. He pushed off the metal and walked toward us, that easy, confident stride that used to make my heart flutter. Now, it just felt like an interruption.
“Heading out?” Tyler asked, ignoring Beau entirely to focus on me. His eyes raked over my form, lingering on my bare legs. “You look good, Win. Real loose. You need a ride? I’m heading your way.”
I blinked, trying to process the offer. “I’m with Beau.”
“I see that.” Tyler smirked, shifting his gaze to Beau. It was a challenge. “Just figured you might want someone who knows the roads better. City boy might get lost in the dark.”
Beau didn’t say a word. He just stepped closer to me, his body heat radiating like a furnace. He opened the passenger door, lifted me by the waist—literally lifted me off the ground—and deposited me onto the seat.
“She’s good,” Beau said to Tyler, his voice deadly calm. “We’re good.”
He slammed the door, walked around to the driver’s side, and got in. He started the engine, revving it a little harder than necessary, and peeled out of the lot without looking at Tyler again.
I let my head fall back against the seat, watching the telephone poles whip by. “You were jealous.”
“I was not jealous.”
“You were,” I insisted, turning to look at him. His profile was tight, jaw clenched. “You went all… caveman. ‘She’s with me.’ It was hot.”
He glanced at me, his eyes dark. “He was looking at you like he owned you. I didn’t like it.”
“Why?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and slid across the bench seat until my thigh pressed against his. I felt his muscles jump. “Why do you care?”
“Because you’re not his and not available.”
“Am I not?”
The question hung in the cab, heavy and reckless. I shouldn’t have asked it. I was drunk, and this was complicated, and this was a bad idea. But I didn’t care. I reached out, my hand finding his thigh, my fingers curling into the denim.
He hissed in a breath. The truck swerved slightly before he corrected it.
“Winnie,” he warned, his voice straining. “Don’t touch me there while I’m driving.”
“Why? Distracting?” I walked my fingers higher, just an inch. “Is the city boy flustered?”
“The city boy is trying not to put us in a ditch.” He grabbed my hand, lacing his fingers through mine and pinning it to the seat between us. “You are dangerous tonight.”
“I’m just honest like you were.” I leaned my head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. “You smell better than Tyler. You smell like… expensive wood and trouble.”
He let out a short, breathless laugh. “Trouble. Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
By the time we pulled up to the ranch house, the silence between us had turned into a live wire. Beau killed the engine, but neither of us moved. The darkness of the cab felt intimate, a little world just for us.
“We’re here,” he said, but he didn’t let go of my hand.
“Carry me?” I whispered.
He looked at me, eyes searching mine. Then he got out, walked around the truck, and opened my door. He didn’t say a word—just reached in, wrapped his arms around me, and hauled me out.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, burying my face in his neck. He was so strong now. It was unfair how strong he was. He carried me up the porch steps like I weighed nothing, kicking the front door open and navigating the dark hallway to the stairs.
“You’re doing that heavy breathing thing,” I mumbled against his skin.
“Because you’re wiggling,” he gritted out. “Stop wiggling.”
“Can’t help it. You feel good.”
He groaned, a low sound in his throat that made my toes curl. He carried me all the way to my room, pushed the door open with his shoulder, and didn’t stop until he reached the bed.
He set me down on the edge of the mattress, but he didn’t back away. He stood between my spread knees, his hands resting on my thighs, his breathing ragged.
I looked up at him. The moonlight from the window cut across his face, highlighting the hunger there. It was raw. It was terrifying. It was exactly what I wanted.
“Beau,” I whispered.
“Winnie.” He leaned down, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of me, trapping me. “You need to sleep. You’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.” I reached up, grabbing the front of his shirt. “I’m just drunk enough to be brave.”
“Brave?”
“To do this.”
I pulled him down.
He resisted for a split second—a hesitation of honor—and then he crashed into me. His mouth found mine, hot and desperate, tasting of whiskey and need. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. His tongue swept into my mouth, demanding, and I met him with everything I had.
I fell back onto the quilt, pulling him down with me. His weight settled over me, heavy and perfect. His knee drove between my legs, pressing against the ache that had been building all night.
“Beau,” I gasped, arching up into him. “Please.”
He broke the kiss, burying his face in my neck, biting lightly at the sensitive cord there. “God, you taste good. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
“Show me,” I challenged, my hands tangling in his hair, yanking his head back so I could see his eyes. “Stop talking and show me.”
His pupils were blown wide, black holes swallowing the blue. His hand slid up my thigh, rough and possessive, his thumb pressing into the denim right at the seam of my shorts.
“I want to,” he rasped. “I want to strip you bare and taste every inch of you. I want to hear you scream my name until you lose your voice.”
I shuddered, a whimper escaping my throat. “Then do it. Why are you stopping?”
Because he had stopped. His hand wasn’t moving higher. His body was tense, holding himself back by a thread.
“Because,” he said, his voice strained, like he was in physical pain. “Because you’re drunk, Winnie. And you’re vulnerable. And if I take you now… I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
“You might tomorrow.” He pushed himself up, hovering over me, his chest heaving. “I’m not going to be the mistake you regret in the morning. You’re worth more than a drunk hookup.”
“I’m not a hookup,” I said fiercely, grabbing his arms. “I’m choosing you.”