Then he's gone. Off on his mission, cutting through the crowd, and I know in every bone of my beat-up, bull-riding body that this is going to end in disaster.
We watch him lean across the bar. The bartender, Jimmy, who's worked here since before we owned the place, just sighs and hands over a full bottle of top-shelf whiskey. Jett tips an imaginary hat, turns on his heel, and approaches the blonde. I can't hear what he's saying over the music, but whatever it is, it works. She's laughing. Tucking her hair behind her ear. And then she's following him, walking right toward me with a smile that says she already knows exactly what she wants.
"Might be the birthday boy's lucky night," Colten says.
"Hopefully," Hunter chimes in.
"My sex life is none of your concern," I hiss.
"What sex life?" Colten counters.
I’m not like Colt, I don’t just fuck around with anyone.
"I'll punch you in the fuckin' jaw, Colten."
He chuckles, running a hand over his stubble. "Play nice, little bro. I don't wanna put you on your ass on your special day."
I shut my mouth as Jett reappears, the blonde in tow. Up close, she's even prettier. Big blue eyes. Plump, glossy lips. The kind of smile that would've knocked me sideways in another lifetime.
"Ace. Meet Abbie. Abbie, meet Ace Sterling. Bull ridin' champion."
I was a champion. Second in the league now.
"Evenin'," I say, tipping my hat.
She blushes. "Evenin', cowboy."
Colten and Hunter take a step back, but I can feel them watching. The way they've watched every woman who's gotten within arm's reach of me since Harper left, waiting to see if this is the one that finally makes me stop checking my phone.
It won't be.
"Abbie here would like to play a game," Jett says, grinning like the devil's personal hype man.
She giggles.
"Alright. What game?" I ask.
He cracks open the bottle, holds it up over his head, and looks me dead in the face.
"It's called chase the whiskey."
Of course it is.
I take a step toward her. She looks up at me through her lashes.
"Can I wear your hat?" she purrs.
My hand goes to the brim on instinct. Black Stetson. Worn soft at the edges. Sweat-stained from a thousand rides. Harper bought me this hat; she dragged me into that little shop on Main Street, made me try on six different ones, and when I put this one on, she got this look on her face like she was seeing the man I was going to become.
I've worn it every single day since.
"No, sweetheart. Not this one."
She tilts her head, but doesn't push it. Jett hands me the whiskey.
"It's his birthday, give him a real treat, Abbie," Jett cheers.
"Shut the fuck up," I hiss. He throws his hands up and backs away with my brothers, leaving me alone with her. Well, alone in a bar full of two hundred people, but close enough.
