“So how much should I bet on you tonight?” I say.
“Bet everything you’ve got,” he says.
“Oh, pretty confident you’ll win?”
He squeezes my leg. Then, his fingers start circling where I have a freckle above my knee. Warmth blossoms. I watch his finger, distracted.
“You didn’t think I could make you come,” he says. “But look at you go.”
I bite my lip and look away because I’m crushing on him so damn hard. I don’t want him to see me smiling like that. He’s already got an ego for days. He keeps stroking my thigh all the way into town. Itry to pretend it’s a casual gesture, but the longer he does it, the wetter my panties get. By the time he lifts me out of the truck at the stockyards, they’re soaked and sticking to my pussy.
“All good?” he says.
I lean in, pulse pattering. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s working.”
“How do you mean?”
Glancing at the packed building, I shift until his body buffers mine. Then, I lift the hem of my skirt in invitation. He slides his hand between my thighs,and his pupils dilate in the dim light.
“Fuck,” he murmurs.
I lean in, his mouth grazing mine. “Win for me tonight, cowboy, and I’ll let you fuck it.”
He shakes his head once, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“I like thinking about you watching me with your pussy wet,” he says. “Take your panties offand give them to me.”
Obediently, I slip them off,and he holds out his palm. I never realized it before now, but he has a blurred letter tattooed onhis thumb, right belowthe knuckle. Another piece of the puzzle that is Jensen Childress. I see it in a flash, then my crumpled panties cover it as he fists his hand. He pushes them into his back pocket.
“Little good luck token,” he says.
He takes my hand and leads me down the hill to the barn. It’s just as packed as the other night, maybe moreso. In the middle, I can see there are a handful of men in the circle, just milling around, talking and taping their hands up.
“Let’s get you a drink,” he says, ushering me to the bar.
I find I like when he moves me around like this. It’s not the same thing Leland did, but I don’t know how it’s different. Maybe because I always felt like I was being held hostage by Leland. But I want to be here with Jensen, so I bite down on his gum and follow.
He leans on the bar. Right away, like he erupted out of nowhere, a handsome man with jet black hair appears behind the bar. He swings his eyes on me and stares, lips parted. There’s an animal-likequality to him, like he sees more than the average person. He also looks a little familiar; I think I saw him here yesterday night.
“Jesus Christ,” says Jensen, startling.
“Almost,” he says. He holds his hand out to me,and I shake it, confused. “Jack Russell.”
“Like the dog?” I blurt out.
His jaw muscle flickers. Beside me, Jensen laughs,and Jack gives him a cool stare.
“How about you shut the fuck up, Childress,” he drawls. “You all want anything to drink?”
I glance past him at the rows of bottles set up on the plywood board. The beer I had the other night was alright.I’m not a big beer drinker, but it also feels pretty silly to ask for wine at a stockyard fight. My eyes settle on a bottle of flavored rum.
“Can I have a shot of that?” I say, pointing.
Jack turns and fills a small glass instead of a shot and slides it over.
“Why are you bartending hereagain?” Jensen asks.
“Got bored and Lisbeth is on duty tonight,” Jack says. He passes Jensen a beer, but he doesn’t touch it. “You fighting?”
