“You wanna go roll around in the barn for a minute so we don’t get jumped at Lucky’s later?”
Sterling lifts a brow. “Lucky’s? I thought we were going to Old Harry’s.” He’s in his usual attire—jeans that have actually been worn before tonight and an army-green T-shirt.
“I thought we’d switch it up a little, get a little farther out of town.” I shrug, trying to appear casual as I lead Lady Liberty through the gate.
“I smell fish. Tell the truth, Duke. Whose woman were you caught with?” Sam asks.
“I’m sure we can handle whoever it is.” Sterling says it like it’s no big deal if I did steal someone’s girl—because when they see the five of us, they wouldn’t do a damn thing.
He’s right, but I don’t want to tell them that I’m hopingto see a certain married bartender who works at Lucky’s Pub, who happened to leave me in my truck with a raging case of blue balls four nights ago.
“I just want a change of scenery. Lucky’s does this thing called a hurricane shot.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that. I thought about asking Dol—never mind.” Sam stops himself.
Four sets of eyes cut to his face as we walk into the red barn. He busies himself with taking off his saddle and acting like he wasn’t about to tell us about his and our sister’s weird kinks.
Sterling clears his throat. “Yeah, so what is it?”
I pull on the leather strap of my saddle. “It’s where the bartender sits on the bar and spits a shot of whiskey into your mouth, and the chaser is her splashing your face with water, then slapping the shit out of you.”
Cash and Holden share a look before their eyes return to me, noticeably filled with doubt and concern.
“What? It sounds fun. Here, I’ll show you the video.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and find the video I saved on social media.
They all gather around to watch it.
“Send that to me,” Cash says as soon as it’s over.
I grin at him. “Told you.”
When we pull up to Lucky’s Pub a few hours later, the parking lot is already full. I’m wearing my nicest shirt—an azure-blue pearl-snap that brings out my eye color according to Dolly. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. I reserve my tan Wranglers for going out. My black felt Stetson has a feather in the side of it from a turkey I shot and cooked for Thanksgiving a few weeks ago.
And my spirits are flying high.
Sterling parks Rosie’s Yukon near the back of the dirt parking lot. We drove her vehicle since it has more legroom for the five of us than any of our trucks do.
“Damn, what a good night to be out on the town, just us guys, huh?” I grin, looking at Sam as he climbs out.
Sterling is right behind him. Sam smiles, nodding. Cash and Holden look around the parking lot.
“Since when did Lucky’s Pub become a hot spot?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Heard it was a good time though.”
Actually, I’m pleasantly surprised to see how many people are here tonight. I suggested the place not only because I get sick of going to Old Harry’s all the time, but mostly because I’m hoping to see Dallas again.
We show our IDs at the door and pay the cover fee since there’s a band tonight. They give us bracelets before we walk through the double wooden doors. The interior is dimly lit with neon bar signs scattered throughout, illuminating it in a rainbow of colors. The energy is high, couples up dancing on the elevated dance floor to the live band playing a Trace Adkins cover in the corner. The place looks like a converted barn, with two long bars on either side and one huge square one in the middle, flanked by the dancefloor and band.
My eyes are immediately peeled for a curly-blond-haired bartender. After turning the corner around the main bar in the center of the large space, I spot her on the far end of the square.
Then I notice her uniform.
Dallas Hayes is wearing a low-cut, cropped red tank top with the Budweiser logo stretched across the front of her full chest, exposing her smooth, tanned stomach. The Daisy Dukes she’s wearing are frayed at the hem and riding up, revealing a sliver of her round butt. She’s not one of those super-thin girls. Dallas has meat on her bones in all the right places. She looks so unbelievably hot that I have to look away before I get caught staring like a creep.
I have to slow down and inhale a deep breath before I continue on. I lick my lips and rest my elbow against the bar top near her. Of course, most of her section is jam-packed with leering cowboys.
Her blond curls are up in a messy bun on top of her head with a few cascading down around her flushed cheeks. Her pretty face is pinched in concentration as she pours a row of whiskey shots.
