“Perfect.” Ivy beams.
“Hottie.” Dakota scoots next to me and whispers low in my ear, “Maybe you’ll get to wrap those gold boots around a bull rider tonight.” She winks. “Think you can hold on for eight seconds?”
Blushing, I reach for my purse. “I’m not riding anything.”
Except the denial train.
“Are you having a good time?” Micky leans in, his breath fanning along my neck, which sparks another round of irritation.
It’s not him, it’s me. I thought it would be a great idea to scroll social media while we waited for the guys. Big mistake. The first post I saw was a media outlet with an update on the world champion from none other than Tori Jackson, gushing at how Parker’s recovery is going well and he’s getting stronger every day. I easily morphed into the darkest shade of green while reading her words. So he’s here, dropping hints like he still actually cares, while he still reports everything to her.
Consider my night out ruined.
Which is why I don’t even flinch when Micky Mack spots me across the bar, slides onto the stool next to me, and decides to stick to me like a used elementary glue stick.
“Yep.” I force a smile, leaning away as Ivy waves from across the room, my brother’s arm slung over her shoulder.
Parker is nowhere to be found at the moment, so I wave back, glancing at Micky, who starts upanotherconversation about the logistics of PVC piping with Arnold, the hardware store owner.
“I’ll be back,” I lie before sliding off my stool and blending in with the crowd.
When I make it to my brother and Ivy, she waggles her brows. “How’s that going?”
My brother frowns. “How’s what going?” He surveys the room, a scowl in place.
“Micky Mack,” Ivy offers. “You two looked cozy.”
“The plumber boy?” Maddox asks.
“He’s twenty-seven, Maddox.” I roll my eyes. “He’s a grown man.”
Who apparently only cares about everyone else’s plumbing but his own.
“He’s…” Maddox trails off.
“What?” I cross my arms.
He shrugs. “Not good enough.”
“And who is?” I ask, tilting my head.
I’m annoyed. Again.
“No one.”
“Agreed.” The word is rumbled from behind me.
I tense, the hairs on my neck rising at that familiar rasp.
I hate that it still affects me. Still makes me remember.
I turn to glare at Parker, who casually leans against a wooden beam next to a high-top table.
His eyes never leave my face, his gaze forcing my cheeks to flame.
Thankfully, Dakota picks the perfect time to approach, a tray of green Jell-O shots in hand.
“Who’s doing shots?!” She grins.
