Cleo had recently moved back from helping her supposed husband and his brother at a dude ranch in Montana. When she’d come back alone, she’d made some comment about work keeping him there and her needing to be here, but she never spoke about him—never called him, either.
“I’ll dance with you,” Bishop said, downing his beer. “If you want.”
We both looked at him in shock. Bishop hated dancing. In fact, I was sure he hated anything to do with fun. I could probably count the number of times I’d seen him smile on one hand—maybe two if I really tried.
I reached over the table, placing my hand on his forehead. “Are you sick?”
“What?” He swatted my hand away. “No, I’m not fucking sick. I was just being polite.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m circling back to my original question.”
Bishop pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you such a pain in the ass?”
I batted my eyelashes. “Because it drives you insane.”
Cleo looked between us. “Listen, it’s okay. I’m fine here, and I know it isn’t your scene…”
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s go see if I remember how to dance.”
“I may be more out of practice than you are,” she laughed, walking around the table. He took her hand, leading her to the floor before I could make another comment.
“Perfect!” I called out, forcing my voice to remain steady. “So, I’ll see you out there then!”
There was a time when I would’ve given anything for Bishop Bryant to take my hand and hold me close on the dance floor, but that crush had been killed long ago. I wasn’t the same naive little girl I was back then. Besides, I didn’t even want a relationship right now. I’d taken a year off the rodeo circuit after Dad had gotten sick so that I could help around the ranch. Next year, I was hitting the ground running and wasn’t planning on looking back.
Still, I couldn’t deny the ache in my chest that refused to go away as I watched him pull my sister close. He said something, making her laugh as they moved around the enclosed space.
“Heya sweetheart, wanna dance?”
I slid my gaze to the cowboy standing beside me, the same one who’d been making eyes at me from across the table. Up close, he’d lost his appeal. I mean, he was cute in a boyish way—blond hair, blue eyes, and a cocky swagger that I’m sure hethought made him look cool—but there was no edge to him. There was nothing there that screamed, “I’ll fuck you into a coma.”
But I wasn’t about to sit around and watch everyone else dance when I’d been the one who forced everyone to go out.
So, I smirked like I always did, hiding my discomfort, and said, “Let’s go, cowboy.”
lennox
. . .
That bootleg cowboycouldn’t dance for shit. He kept stepping on my toes, and his turns were sloppy and out of control. I’d lost count of how many couples he’d bumped us into after the first song.
It didn’t help that I’d worn brand-new boots. Josie had warned me not to, but I didn’t listen. I never listened. At least when I showed up limping tomorrow, I could blame it on the man.
Fortunately, after two songs, Bishop and Cleo made their way back to our table, and I had an excuse to save what was left of my toes. As the music came to an end, I forced a smile. “Thanks so much for the dances! My friends are headed back, though, so I’m gonna…” I trailed off, shooting finger guns in his direction.
Maybe Bishop’s onto something. Why am I the way I am?
The cowboy laughed. “Then let’s go.”
He gripped my hand in his, following my sister and Bishop. It would’ve been fine had he not grabbed his beer and set it on our table, looking around expectantly at everyone. “‘Sup? Name’s Case.”
Case? Oh no. I had an ex-boyfriend on the circuit named Case, and he was a fuckboy supreme. Looked a lot like this guy, to be honest.
He stuck out his hand toward the others. Cleo shook it because she was polite and never wanted anyone to think anything bad about her, but Bishop stared at it like it was a hot branding iron.
And then his gaze slid to me in a“Are you fucking kidding me?”look.
Oops.
