Repositioned in a staggered formation, four of the cowboys reached up and secured their wrists in the aerial straps dangling overhead. They then kicked off from the bar like flying on a rope swing and, using the momentum, spun themselves like tornadoes on the return. A Cowboy hurricane.
The dancers who weren’t strapped to the ceiling hopped down from the bar and made their way through the pit of estrogen while the aerialists continued to entertain from above, performingvarious provocative movements; body rolls, hip thrusts, you name it, they did it. They were a sinful distraction from every delectable angle.
When those working the room returned to the bar, all eight posed like sexy Renaissance sculptures, and the music faded as a spotlight drew our attention to the far right of the bar, where a new Cowboy stood, a microphone pressed to his lips.
“Yee-fuckin-haw, which one of you cowgirls is ready to spill some kerosene and play with fire tonight?” He looked older than the others, but just as drop-dead gorgeous, with a touch of gray accenting his dark locks. Shit, even Tiffany and I had started catcalling at the sight of that tall drink of water.Excuse me, sir, your girl’s getting a little dehydrated over here.
“For those who are new to Kerosene, my name’s Trent, and I’ll be your personal Wrangler for the evening, rounding up the finest cowboys Nashville has to offer, and delivering them straight between your thighs.” Trent lifted a pointed finger toward the ceiling, and my gaze followed the motion, landing on the rafter directly above the bar. There, names had been burned into the wood; etched autographs of every Cowboy, past and present.
“And speaking of offers, have I got one foryou.” With a wink in our direction, I could swear the proposition was aimed at me—or Tiffany. “Stick around, ladies, this evening is only going to get hotter from here. So, how about the boys and I kick up a little dust and give you cowgirls exactly what you came to see?”
Wild didn’t even come close to describing the energy from the women in this room tonight, unanimously chanting ‘yee-fucking-haw’. Trent dropped his mic to one of the bartenders before joining the Cowboys in tearing their shirts straight down the middle, tossing them into the swarm.
And for a brief moment, time slowed as if I were watching a scene from a movie; steel-cut abs for fucking days.
“You’redrooling,D!”Tiffanyexclaimed—more than once. But I couldn’t help it. I was a grown-ass woman in a candy shop tailored to southern sexual fantasies. Grinding on every cowboy that passed, just to get a sample of their sweet, succulent heat.
I was having the time of my fucking life, up until Trent returned to his spot on the bar and brought the crowd’s undivided attention right back to him.
“Is there a lady in here tonight who enjoys playing games? Perhaps participating in a littlefriendlycompetition?” He arched a brow as his eyes scanned the room before stopping where my sister and I were located, closer to the rear corner, away from the mob.Oh god… “Let’sreignitea favorite pastime of the Cowboys with a single round of blowtorches.”
Blow… what?
“Ohh! I’ve heard of this!” Tiffany giggled beside me as she finished her cocktail and set the glass down on the nearest table, while another woman chimed in with, “They haven’t played it in years. This used to be a staple every night. I wonder why the suddendesire to bring it back…” She hummed before rejoining her group, leaving me to start overthinking—
The sudden change in plans.
The free bar tab.
The intentional look the MC had been giving us—me—all night.
The feeling of everything being too much of a coincidence, and now,this?
“What?” I glared daggers at Tiffany as she met my gaze, confused by my sudden change in demeanor.
“Something you want to tell me, Tiff?” I growled the accusation, deep and low through my teeth.
“Okay, hold up. Before you go all Charlie’s Angels on my ass, I have cause—” Her forehead creased, brows knitting together as she recoiled with unequivocal guilt.
“And?”
“And, it isbecauseyou said you’d give Mister Vortex a chance…andI just so happened to find out that he also works…here…” Pressing her lips together, I watched as Tiffany’s eyes darted between mine and the bar, where several half-naked Cowboys were lining up, single file.God help me…
There, standing at the far end, was an all too familiar set of abs, accented by the largest buckle of them all, luring my attention straight tohim. Rhylan.
“Don’t hate me,please.” Tiffany pleaded as my eyes centered on his. All the surrounding voices turned into nothing morethan white noise.Static. And he stared right back at me, as if I were the only face worth noticing in this overcrowded room.
What was that saying my sister was constantly preaching when she was either drunk or about to do something incredibly stupid?You only live once?
“YOLO, Bitch!”
Yeah… that one…
Aggravation aside, I downed the last of my drink, shoving the empty glass into Tiffany’s hand before charging toward the bar with purpose; to claim the Cowboy every woman had already begun drooling over.Mine.
“First-come, first-served, buckle bunnies.” Trent chuckled as he stood by, effectively unleashing a frenzy of starved piranhas, begging to be chosen.
God… I can’t believe I’m about to subject myself to pick-me territory.But I would, because even though I had reservations about Rhylan, I also refused to stand by and watch as another woman put her hands on him.Shit, was I already becoming territorial?
