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But none of them wore one like him.

His thick, corded arms and broad chest filled out every inch of his white T-shirt. I didn’t want to look down at what he was wearing below the bar top because if his thighs were as big as the rest of him, it would take an act of god to keep me from saying yes to whatever he asked.

“Ariella, dance on top of this bar.” Yes, hot, mysterious cowboy man, sir.

I should have turned him away before I started drooling, but the desperation in his tone and face was like kibble to me. Curse the Contreras’ trait that made me a chismosa.

He took my silence as a green light to keep pleading his case. “Look, it will only be for a minute. Then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise. In fact, for your trouble, I’ll cover your tab for tonight, too.”

I’d been distracted by the slight stubble on his chiseled jaw, wondering if the hair under his black hat was the same honeyed brunette color. But the second he got to the paying-for-shit part of his pitch, I snapped right out of my hot-man-hypnosis.

“Why does every man think that they can throw money around to get women to do what they want?”

“I—that—” His eyes widened in surprise. “That wasn’t what I was trying to imply, miss. I’m sure you don’t need me to pay for anything. I was just trying…I apologize.”

The ice over my heart thawed a bit at his genuine response.

Truthfully, it was adorable how flustered he was and how he sheepishly kept his gaze locked where his rough hands were splayed on the marble, like he needed the support. I’d clocked the callouses when he rubbed his face as he fumbled for a response. Hands like that had seen hard work before.

Against my better judgment, my attention traveled downward. I almost laughed when I reached his thick thighs. Of course they were covered in light-washed jeans. I’d bet every dollar to my name that stitched on his ass was that sexy Wrangler W.

This was god tempting me. I was sure of it.

Here I was, minding my own business, sticking to my vow of celibacy, and a hot man just happened to need me to be his date. Or…

I leaned closer to him, the alcohol skewing my depth perception enough that we were practically nose to nose. His nostrils flared slightly, but there was no indication that our proximity bothered him.

“Did Gracie put you up to this?” I asked, ignoring the fluttering feeling low in my stomach.

“Who?”

“Short, Mexican woman with a cute bob and bossy personality, but in a weirdly cheerful way. She probably got you to agree to this before even realizing it?” He looked more confused with every word.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he answered, eyeing me like I’d lost my mind.

Huh.

That last tequila shot I’d taken was a mistake because, at this point, I should’ve told him to get lost. Instead, the opposite sentiment fell from my liquor-loosened lips.

“Who’s this act for?”

“You’ll do it?” Shock colored his tone.

“Didn’t say that.” I gripped my drink, resisting the urge to massage away the wrinkle forming between his brows at my words. “Amazing how men manage to survive with your atrocious listening skills. I asked who you need me to fake being your date in front of?”

“Well, uh, it’s for my ex.” He winced, dragging a hand over the back of his thick neck, the apples of his cheeks tinged with pink.

And just like that, all the positive thoughts I’d had about him vanished.

Of course. It’s always an ex-girlfriend, a current girlfriend, or some kind of messy situationship. Here I was, giving him the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe this act was for an agent or a boss. But nope. Odds were, he’d screwed her over, and now he wanted me to help him dodge the fallout.

“Sorry, Longest Ride,” I said with a shrug. “Girl code. I can’t help you hide from your ex.”

He sighed, running a hand over the back of his head like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry for bothering you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He shifted, ready to leave. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

I opened my mouth to say something—what exactly? I had no clue—but a sharp voice cut me off.

“What a surprise seeing you here.” The words dripped with condescension. I turned toward the source, finding a tall blonde sauntering toward us, her expression dripping with contempt. “Really? This is what you decided to wear the first time you crawl out from that condo you’ve been hiding in?” She plucked at his shirt with a manicured hand, dropping it and brushing her fingers together like she touched a dirty rag. “God, you can’t function without me, can you? What’s your father going to say about this outfit?”