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Thor’s tail thumps loudly against the hardwood floor.
“You might wish you were,” Wyatt says from the doorway, holding a plate stacked high with pancakes and wearing a Cheshire cat grin. Oh no.
“What did I do?”
“Before or after Everleigh convinced you to dance on top of the pool table?”
I grab the pillow next to me, smash it over my face, and groan. After I kill the gremlin banging a tiny hammer against my skull, I’m going to strangle my best friend. She somehow convinced me that seducing Ryder was the only way I’d ever persuade him to work with me to revive the animal rescue. Apparently my seduction skills suck so bad that I needed copious amounts of alcohol to even try.
“Please tell me there’s no evidence,” I wail, my voice still fairly muffled by the pillow.
“Maybe you should stay off social media for a few days.” Wyatt almost sounds sympathetic. Until he starts laughing his pompous ass off. “Next time you try to seduce Ryder, maybe skip the karaoke bit. Even if you could carry a tune, no one believes you’re a virgin.”
I pull the pillow away from my face, cursing the sunlight for its audacity to blind me. Thor takes it upon himself to crawl onto the bed, stealing every spare inch of space as he nearly squashes me beneath his heavy frame. I’m so mortified that my brother caught on to my pathetic plan that I don’t even care that I can’t breathe. “I sang Madonna?” I groan with my last bit of air and then shove hard against the hundred and forty pound beast. He shifts ever so slightly.
“Twice.”
“But it’s not a karaoke bar.”
“I tried to tell you that. Everybody did.”
“Leave the pancakes. I live here now.”
“No can do.”
“You’re cruel.”
“They’re expecting you at the ranch. You promised to help set up for Paps’ surprise party.”
I groan again. “That’s today?”
“Sure is. Pancakes and ibuprofen will be waiting in the kitchen. Unless Thor beats you to the pancakes.” At the mention of his name, the miniature horse hops down from the bed, causing an earthquake that makes me a little bit nauseous.
I wait until the door closes behind them to attempt sitting up. Thankfully, I make it through a shower without hurling. Ignoring Wyatt’s warning to stay off social media, I reach for my phone to assess the damage.
“Twenty-three missed text messages?” That’s it. I’m never drinking again.
A handful of texts are from Everleigh, apologies for getting me sloshed along with picture and video evidence of me vogueing like it’s the freaking nineties. “Fuck, I really did dance on the pool table.”
Everleigh: In case Wyatt didn’t tell you, you’re banned from The Rusty Nail. #sorrynotsorry
I’d give just about anything to avoid the Stone Ranch today. In a town as small as Emerald Creek, it’s not only possible that the news of my shenanigans has already traveled to Paps and Gina, it’s highly probable. They’ve always pegged me for the good girl type with so much promise. The thought of disappointing them eats at me.
And then there’s Ryder.
Fuck me.
How the hell am I supposed to face the grumpy cowboy after the way I embarrassingly threw myself at him? Not only have I ruined any chance of getting him to help me transition the ranch into an official animal rescue, but I’ve definitely killed any odds that he’ll see me as anything more than an immature girl who can’t hold her liquor.
“What a mess.”
Several of the messages are from Nadia. A small bubble of hope emerges as I scroll through them, searching for news of a very important letter’s arrival. I think after last night, the Universe owes me something good.
The further I scroll, the more defeated I feel. Most of her texts are replies to pictures and videos I sent her. I’m both appalled and impressed at the amount of information I was able to convey, grammatically correct information I might add, about Ryder Stone and his hot cowboy status. “When did I have the time?” I mock mutter under my breath.
Nadia: You’ve been holding out on me. I didn’t even know you drank!
Nadia: If you’re not hitting that, I’ll fly my happy ass to Montana right now and hit that for you.
