Chapter 3
Bailey
The sting of the tequila hits the back of my throat at lightning speed. Knocking one back tonight with a random stranger at The Perky Porch, where nothing exciting ever happens, is startling—and it’s the last thing I expected to be doing.
I wince as the liquid works its way down, the burn very real, and place the shot glass back on the counter.
It’s a whisker short of a slam. “Holy shit,” I choke out, trying not to embarrass myself even more than I have done tonight.
It’s been a while since I did shots with anyone, much less a stranger.
Cute cowboy Brett, however, is a tequila slamming pro from way back. I can tell. The way he purses his lips, then parts them to bring the liquid up to his mouth and slings it back like he’s in some Wild West movie. All cool, calm, and collected. Not a cough or a gag in sight.
And he’s sexy. His beard is short and well-trimmed, the color of a whiskey neat. It frames his face like the dusty backdrop of a fall sky at dusk. His eyes are a pretty shade of hazel.
“You can say that again.” He even slides the glass onto the bar with a sexy, easy way about him, pushing it away like he’s done with it.
Hot.
I lift a brow. “Done that before?”
“A time or two,” he says, his pretty eyes sparkle.
Do they have a touch of green? At least, that’s how it looks from this angle.
He blinks and looks down, swallowing hard as if he’s about to say something.
But just as quick as the storm cloud comes, it’s gone again when he looks back up to meet my gaze. “You?”
“Not as much as I need to,” I say, a little too honestly. That goes for a lot of things around here, but best not to tell a stranger that. “So, thank you. You were right, it is what I needed.”
It’s his turn to quirk an eyebrow. “I should be thanking you.”
“What for? You wouldn’t let me pay for the shots.”
“What kind of man would I be to let a lady pay for her own drink? I’m a Nashville boy, we don’t do that kind of thing there.”
A lady?
It’s almost like I have to remember to breathe to keep my mouth from dropping to the floor.
Nobody around these parts would call me a lady.
I mean, I am a woman, obviously, but not in the Bridgerton sense.
I’m used to being in my chaps and flannels on horseback mostly, if not hauling hay and cleaning out the stables and shoveling horse manure.
I don’t have time for glamor. Tonight, although by no means glamorous, I managed to wash and blow out my hair before meeting Sadie and JB, and I’m kinda thanking myself now.
“A Nashville boy?” I say. “You’re a few miles from home.”
“Sure is. But a change of scenery is always good.”
“Have you eaten yet?” I ask him, my words are on the loose before I have a chance to stop them.
“Not yet, sugar. Why? Do you wanna have dinner with me?”
Oh, how I’d love to say yes, but my compass points me toward my friends, who must be wondering where I am by now.
“I’m not in the habit of dining with strangers, but even if I wanted to make an exception, it’s girls’ night.” I nod over to Sadie and JB again. “What kind of friend would I be to ditch my two besties and spend it having dinner with a rogue cowboy?”
He chuckles, and his smile lights up his handsome face. His hair is hidden under the cowboy hat, but I can see from the nape of his neck it’s a dusty brown hue that suits his tanned complexion. The kind you get from being out in the sun, not from a tanning salon.
I resist the urge to not reach out and touch him—that must be the booze talking. Luckily, I internally kick myself and wake up from my daydream before I envision how soft and skilled those lips actually are.
My thoughts don’t seem to want to be interrupted, but I have news for them. “Let me order you dinner, at least?” I offer. “Since you did save my life and all.”
Admittedly, I was a little embarrassed about my near stumble across the bar. Not that I didn’t mind pressing into that hard wall of steel, but it wasn’t exactly graceful. “The bison burgers here are what dreams are made of,” I babble on.
I don’t miss the way his undeterred gaze never falters. Those intense eyes are having a field day at my expense. I snap my eyes away and glance over at Jill, still by the cash register swapping out some change. “Unless you’re a vegetarian like my friend—”
One side of his mouth pulls up into a lopsided smile, it’s cute, crinkly, and has all the right qualities a girl like me would be looking for, if I was looking, which I’m not. “I don’t know. Do I look like a vegetarian kind of guy?”
I size him up for a beat, I mean, what’s the harm in checking out the rest of him? Did God really make gorgeous creatures like the one before me so women wouldn’t look? I don’t think so. It would be a crime against humanity not to. So I’m doing my bit, and proud of it.
My eyes drift up from his heavy boots to his dark blue jeans, over a large bull head belt buckle, and his wide chest, tight against the fabric of his white shirt.
He must work out with a body that fine. The checkered black and white flannel somehow screams sexy, and I find myself wondering in some detail what lies beneath.
“What does a vegetarian kind of guy look like?” I inquire, my sarcastic tone a cover up because I’m becoming increasingly bewildered by him and his sexy smirk.
I don’t get dazzled by a pretty face. Nope, not ever. Especially not when I’m buried up to my neck in hay and manure. It hardly leaves much time for meeting people.
“Touché. And yes to the burger, but I’m not letting you pay.”
Too late. I step back to the counter and reel off an order to Jill with a side order of fries.
Everyone loves fries. She rings it up and I quickly swipe my card before he can protest or have any chance of getting to the register.
It sure is good sometimes having long limbs, not that he’s shorter than me.
Oh no, he’d have to be at least six three, and judging from that tight top clinging to his muscles for dear life, he’s ripped in all the right places.
“That was very sneaky, little miss. Thank you.”
I smile, proud of myself that I beat him to it. “You’ll be thanking me once you taste that burger.”
“Well, I know where you’ll be sitting, Ma’am, so there’s a high chance of that.”
I swallow at his words, and I feel my cheeks flush. I’m turning red now? What in the actual fuck?
I never get like this around guys. Then again, there aren’t many single men in this town, and most I’ve known for years and would never date or have any inclination to be romantic with, even casually.
Clearly, he’s new around here. But this Brett character has me all in a flap—also very unlike me.
I’m fairly certain it’s not just the tequila I threw down my neck.
“That’s if I can make it back to my table without incident,” I quip, just as one of The Perky Porch servers comes out with a mop and bucket to clear up the mess.
“Here’s hoping.” The corner of his mouth lifts, and I follow the movement because he looks so damned fine. Good Lord, I need to get a grip — and by grip, I mean not of him.
He’s smooth. He knows how to talk to a lady. Oh, and that shit-eating grin… Damn.
The last thing I need on my plate is a sexy, smooth-talking cowboy. Why? Because men are complicated, no matter what they say. That southern accent goes straight between my legs, and if he says ma’am like that one more time, I can’t be held accountable for what I might do next.
“Thank you and good evening.” I decide to wrap this up before I get carried away, and nod like I’ve just stepped out of nineteenth century England.
Internally, I facepalm myself. I may as well have just bid him farewell while I’m at it, and put my newly formed fair maiden skills to the test with a jousting pole.
I push off the bar that I realize I’ve been resting on, just in time to see him tip his hat and say goodnight in return. A gentleman and sexy as sin. Nice combo.
I walk with as much grace as a farm girl like me can muster, knowing there’s a chance he’s following me with his gaze.
The sharp sting of tequila didn’t just warm up the cockles of my frozen heart, it seems, but now my two friends are staring at me with the same wide-eyed expression.
I was kinda hoping no-one had witnessed me slinging back a shot with the cute cowboy just now, but I’m quickly reminded that nothing goes unnoticed around here.
“What the heck!” JB is already mouthing loudly before I even get back into my seat.
My wide eyes must tell the picture of a thousand as I press my tequila-stained lips together.
Sadie is waggling her eyebrows at me as I try to pretend I haven’t been gone for the last fifteen minutes.
“Did you guys just see that?” I blow out a breath.
“Um, yeah, it was a little hard to miss,” JB giggles, giving Sadie a nudge with her elbow.
“Who on earth is that?” Sadie asks, her eye gaze shifting over me to Mister Smooth, and I can’t help but take a peek myself. Sure enough, there he sits holding a fresh beer looking as sexy as sin.
Suddenly, as if by a silent siren call, his head turns and his eyes flick over to find mine. Yes, I’ve upgraded from lady to siren. I quickly look away, feeling like a flounder and needing to breathe.
“He said his name was Brett,” I whisper.
“Uh-huh, and he’s not from around here,” Sadie says, still looking in that direction.
“Where is he from, did he say?” JB asks, also following Sadie’s gaze.
“Nashville, however, I didn’t interrogate him after doing the slip n’ slide across the bar,” I mutter.
“Awww, it’s love at first sight,” sings Sadie.
“Can you please stop looking at him!” I hiss, but even I can’t be that serious for long.
They both giggle like little schoolgirls.
I level them both with a stern look. “You two! Stop it.”
“Well, from over here it looked like you were having quite the little meet-cute,” JB goes on.
“He just felt bad for me embarrassing myself and using him as a landing post, so he subsequently paid for our dinner,” I say, like that’s the most normal thing in the world.
They both gawk at me. “He was just being nice,” I quickly add.
When I glance up they’re both still staring at me.
“And you’re still sitting over here with us?” JB giggles. “Wow.”
“She’s fearless like that,” Sadie says. “A nice, charming man shows up in town and you run a mile.”
“Very funny. I didn’t run. In fact, he asked me if I wanted to have dinner, but I explained the code of bestie conduct.”
“Oh, god, tell me you didn’t.” Sadie, my so-called best friend, palms her forehead. So much for having an ally.
“You’d rather I ditched you both for Mister Smooth Cowboy over there?”
We all glance over at him in unison, and just as we do, he looks over at us again, tipping the front of his hat toward us. I think my ovaries just exploded, and I’ve always hated that term. Now I know exactly how it feels. It’s also pretty damned obvious we’re talking about him, too.
“Oh, Bails.” JB actually cradles her forehead in her palm.
“I know,” Sadie agrees. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with her.”
And here I was thinking I was doing the right thing. So much for bestie solidarity.