I take a step to the side to go around the cowboy, but at the same time, he does too. My smile widens awkwardly, right in time with his, and I take another step to the side. Which he also takes. With each step, he mirrors me, both of us breaking into laughter.
My stomach does some sort of weird, foreign swoop, and I smooth a hand down my cream-colored dress, trying to get rid of it.
A lack of laugh lines and the childlike quality to his smile make me think he’s got to be close to my twenty-five. Though perhaps he’s older. He doesn’t have the body of a young man. He has the body of aman. Filled out and packed with powerful muscles.
An image of him tossing me around the bedroom infiltrates my mind, a blush creeping across my cheeks.
No. Impossible. I don’t react to men. Not because I don’t like them, I do. They’re just at the bottom of my priority list. It must be the shots making my cheeks warm.
The cowboy hat blocks the man’s hair from view, but his eyes shine beneath the rim. Blue? Brown? In the dim light of the club, it’s hard to tell. They’re kind, though. Full of mirth, mischief, and strength. They make me want to confess all my deepest secrets while laughing until my sides hurt and tears run down my cheeks.
The rest of him matches the hat. Casual, plain tan t-shirt, one arm covered in tattoos to his wrist. Medium wash jeans that fit a little too well. And of course, cowboy boots. The scuffed up kind.Which is a breath of fresh air.
This man is no stranger to working.
“If we keep dancing, I’ll need to buy you a drink,” he says, smile widening to show off a set of straight, white teeth.
My stomach swoops again, and despite myself, I find my own smile widening, though I try to bite it back. “If we keep dancing, I might let you.”
His eyebrows disappear beneath his hat, and he slowly nods before stepping sideways, holding his hand out for us to move past him. I glance sideways as we go by, enjoying the heat of his body, and gaze, as we do.
When we’re far enough away, Jordan giggles. “Quinn would approve.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head without further response. But I can’t help looking over my shoulder as we reach the bathroom door.
Standing right where we left him is the nameless stranger. Beer in his hand, eyes locked on me.
A cowboy, like Quinn spoke him into existence just for me.
Chapter 2
Bryn
“Ithinkyouneedto go out there and find him,” Jordan croons, staring at me through the mirror in the women’s restroom. “That’s the kind of fun you need in your life, even if it’s just for a night.”
“I have fun in my life,” I defend, my mind drifting to the unfinished puzzle on Gran’s dining room table.
“You sound like Nate before he met Savanna,” she says, leaning over the counter to reapply her lipstick. “Remember when he had no fun because he was all work and no play?”
“I’m not all work,” I scoff, flicking my wet hands in her direction. She jumps, nearly swiping her lipstick between her lip and nose.
Dabbing her lips with the pad of her pinky, she rubs them together, makes a popping sound, then stands up straight and turns towards me. “Gran does not count as fun.”
“But she is fun.”
“C’mon, Bryn. Go out there and find him again. Steal his cowboy hat.”
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air before tearing off a piece of paper towel from the dispenser. “You do not just steal a cowboy’s hat, Jor. Are you crazy?”
She shrugs. “Liam thinks it’s adorable when I steal his hat.”
“Have you never heard the whole ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ thing?”
I grew up on a winery north of San Francisco in Sonoma. It wasn’t exactly ranching land, but we had stables and there were enough cowboys and cowboy wannabes that I learned hat etiquette early.
Jor cocks her head to the side, long, chocolate brown hair sliding down the length of her arm. “No?”
“Girl, I know you’ve been to this bar before, and you’ve never heard this? If you take a cowboy’s hat, you’re basically saying you want to ride him.”
