Chapter 5 Lookin’ Like A Chump
Lookin' Like A Chump
Sawyer
I ignore them and take the drink Allie already brought over from the bar because I deserve it after wrangling all the goats that escaped their enclosure after wrecking their fence.
Again.
Roscoe is a damn nuisance.
Not to mention having to deal with Wes and his smug, know-it-all attitude.
Realizing Wes is only here to convince Pops to sell Dawson Ranch hit me harder than I thought it would. I’d grown close to the old man over these last several years. He was like family to me.
He helped me out when I needed it after my divorce, and now, I helped him. I didn’t like the thought of Pops not being close by, and I hated the idea of the ranch being sold off in chunks to someone else who would ruin everything Pops and his family had built out here.
Almost everyone is congregating around the big corner booth, so it’s simple enough to pretend it’s just me and my best friend in the crowded bar on a Friday night.
I catch a few of the men at the bar checking out Allie as we pass by.
Her short brown hair curls perfectly around her oval face, and the cute floral dress she’s wearing hits above her knee.
She’s quite a bit shorter than I am and her full and curvy figure, combined with her bubbly personality, draws eyes wherever we go.
I glance down at the jeans and graphic tee I’m sporting, which reads, “I will put you in a trunk and help people look for you. Stop playing with me.” (A reminder for Kyle and anyone else that if you fuck around, you'll find out.) My hair is thrown up into a claw clip, and I’m wearing my good boots instead of the ones I worked in all day, so at least I wasn’t coming in here covered in animal crap.
It wouldn’t have been the first time if I had.
Ever since my divorce, I’ve made a point not to give a fuck what anyone else thinks. I wear what I want. I say what I want. I live the way I want to live. I won’t change myself to be more palatable for anyone.
I’m in my thirties. I don’t have the energy to care what anyone else thinks of me anymore.
I take another drink of whatever sweet, girly cocktail Allie brought me. It’s not what I would have picked, but I’ll grab the next round and get something with a little more whiskey and a little less sugary mixer.
“So, how was your week?”
She sighs dramatically. “My room is rearranged, report cards are done, the new fall bulletin board is up, and parent-teacher conferences are finally over. Now, I can sit back and relax for a few days over break.”
“Hallelujah!” I chorus and clink her glass with mine, finishing it off.
A raucous cheer rises from the corner table, and I glance over to see Wes doing tequila shots with a couple of the women at their table. My skin prickles with annoyance. Of course, he’s at the bar his second night back in town instead of spending time with Pops.
Allie follows the direction of my gaze and squeals. “Wes is here! I’m gonna go say hi.”
My cheeks heat in irritation. “I’m getting another drink,” I mumble as she heads over to the corner table with everyone else.
I’m not surprised Allie is excited about Wes being here. Her big brother, Tripp, was always hanging with Wes when he was here for the summer. I order me and Allie a stronger drink and glance over my shoulder to see her hugging Wes while everyone moves over to make room for her.
I guess we’re joining the crowd tonight.
Great.
I blow a piece of hair out of my face and find my way over to where Wes is holding court.
He looks just as infuriatingly at ease as he did the last time I saw him, which was only a couple of hours ago. He has that know-it-all crooked smile on his face as he leans forward, his elbows resting on the table.
He catches me staring and winks. “Hey, Red. Is that drink for me?”
I sneer at the new nickname, my cheeks heating back up to what I’m sure is the same shade as a ripe tomato. “No, it’s for Allie,” I say, handing the glass over to my friend.
She sniffs at it, makes a face and slides it to Wes. “That drink would put me on my ass.”
“I thought that was the point of tonight,” I point out.
She laughs. “I’d rather not start my break by heaving up my supper into the bar toilet because my best friend got me white girl wasted.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Wes says and holds his glass up in salute, quirking his dark brow at me.
I narrow my eyes and take a long pull from the glass.
“Sit down, Sawyer. Wes was just telling us what he’s been up to in the city.”
“Oh goody,” I quip sarcastically.
Allie elbows me in the ribs and mutters under her breath, “Be nice.”
Wes clears his throat, and I note a light flush coloring his cheeks. “There’s not a lot to tell,” he says. “I work at the accounting firm that my dad opened. I sit at a desk and look at numbers all day.”
“Sounds uptight and boring. Probably suits you,” I mutter.
Allie gives me the give it a rest look that I get whenever she’s tired of my bullshit, but Wes looks wholly unfazed as he gives me a crooked grin.
“So, how long are you planning on staying, Wes?” Lilah, one of the girls at the table, asks. It’s clear she’s panting over him as she leans in, pushing her tits together to get his attention. Pathetic.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, passing me a sidelong glance. “I’m here helping Pops with fall vaccinations and separating the herd.”
The way he says it makes it sound like he’s some good Samaritan instead of someone trying to sell off the family ranch out from under Pops. I slant a knowing look in his direction, and he crosses his arms over his chest and glowers back.
Other conversations break out at the table, and I lean forward, hissing under my breath, “I can’t believe you’re here tonight instead of at the house with Pops. You just got to town.”
He cuts me a dark look. “Pops isn't even home. He had his weekly pitch night with his friends.”
I huff out an irritated breath and take another drink, only to realize my glass is empty already. I frown into my cup, and Wes excuses himself to use the bathroom. When he walks away, several of the women watch him go.
“I wonder if he has a girl back in the city,” Cheyenne says, eyes glued to his ass in the designer jeans he wore out tonight.
I lean back and shake my head at her. “I’m sure Trevor would love to know that you’re wondering,” I retort, reminding her she has a husband at home and two kids to boot.
“You’re in rare form tonight,” Allie snickers into her drink.
Cheyenne gives me a venomous glare. Her lips tip up into a smile that’s nothing but acid that looks like sugar. “I heard you had a date with Kyle the other night,” she says, her voice cloying.
“I had an error in judgment.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about going out with you.” Her smile is smug, and I’d really love to wipe that look off her perfect face.
Before I have a chance to make a snide remark, a hand reaches around, placing a drink on the table in front of me. “Here you go, Red.”
I glare up at Wes, who gives me a conciliatory look. “Are you hitting on me?” I ask.
"And risk getting a drink thrown in my face like Kyle? God, no."
"Then what's this for?" I ask, not trusting that it's some random act of kindness.
His head tips down so his mouth is right next to my ear. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and I owe you one.” His breath fans across my neck, making goosebumps crop up on my skin.
He can’t be waving a white flag already.
My head swings toward him. His mouth is just an inch from mine, and something tightens in my abdomen. I lean back, giving him a bemused look. "Owe me for what?"
He glances down at the bandaged hand I helped remove the sliver from earlier.
I nod in acknowledgement. “Fine. I’ll allow it,” I say, taking a sip of the beer he put in front of me.
"Keep showing your teeth, Red. I've never minded a few bite marks."
He looks pleased as a peach when my cheeks heat once more, and I wonder exactly what he thinks he’s won by getting me to accept a free beer. From where I’m sitting, he’s the one looking like a chump, doling out free beers for five minutes of first aid.