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The engine is good. All it needs is a little attention. A little babying. A little love. I’ll make this motorcycle I found in the bargain bin section of the local paper purr for me, the same way I work a woman.
The sun crawls toward the purple mountains in the distance, but it won’t set for another hour or two. I stop just inside the door of the bar. The parking lot is full, so it’s popular. The high-top tables and booths skirting both walls are occupied, but the dance floor is empty. Neon signs on the wood-paneled walls give the room a glow of reds and blues. I make my way to the bar and settle on a stool.
The bartender comes over and takes my order, a beer on tap and a burger with fries. I missed the Mexican dinner at the house because of that asshole detective, so I’m hungry. I savor the cool bite of my drink as I wait for the food and then spin around to look over the crowd. This place is about an hour from Bayfield, so I don’t see a familiar face. Not that I expect to recognize anyone.
I’ve been in the state for two weeks. Not long enough to make friends. I’m just happy to no longer find my brothers a pain in my ass.
I know Carly, Austin’s woman. Lexie, the ranch’s vet, and most of the ranch staff. Unfortunately, I know Carly’s dad, the town mayor, whoisa pain in the ass. More for Austin than myself, although the man has a pretty big beef with our father that he’s carried on to the next generation. Seems to be an unwritten law around here. The sons of Jonathan Bridger are somehow responsible for their father’s sins.
Carly herself has helped her dad simmer his shit down, but I doubt we’ll be getting a holiday card from him this year. Or ever.
I’ll put in my year at Bridger Ranch like the will says, get my billion, and get the hell out of Dodge. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy taking out my new ride. At least until it gets cold, which I expect will be sooner than I want.
The music through the hidden speakers changes, and a bunch of screams and hollers have me swiveling on my stool. A group of ladies, clearly having a good time, are partying around two high-tops farther down the bar. They’re dressed to go out, which in Montana means jeans, flirty skirts, or dresses with cowboy boots. No stilettos or sequins like I’d see in New York City. No black leather. Hell, I’m the only one wearing that.
One woman has a tiara on her head and a white feathered boa around her neck. A beauty-pageant-style sash is slung over her shoulder and it reads “Soon to be Mrs.”
My gaze isn’t snagged on the lead bachelorette, but another woman in the group. Why? Because she has her dark eyes on me. I’m not sure she even hears the twang of the country music or sees the dancing and arm waving of her friends. All her attention is squarely on me.
Yeah,me.
I raise my brow because if she wants to stare, I don’t mind staring right back. She’s nothard on the eyes. Far from it. I’d even call her fucking gorgeous. She wears a black tiered miniskirt that flares and hits halfway to her knees. Her top is a plain T-shirt with a deep V that does amazing things to her tits. She’s taller than average, and she has meat on her bones. Thick and curvy. A lush body a guy can grip and hang on to. My fingers itch to learn every inch of her.
I’m single, but I’m not a monk. I know when a woman is interested. I can flirt, but I don’t like games. Don’t like circling. The dance between a man and a woman. I want chemistry. A connection. With those two things, flirting isn’t necessary.
With this woman, there’s fucking chemistry. I can tell she feels it too because she’s now heading my way. The corner of her full mouth turns up as she sways toward me. I don’t look away, not even when the bartender sets my burger on the bar.
Tonight is getting better and better. A good ride on a motorcycle and maybe—most likely—a good ride with a hot woman.
“Hi,” she says.
Her voice is deep and husky. Up close, her dark hair is almost black and brushes her shoulders. It’s straight and sleek, shiny like the chrome on my custom bikes. She wears makeup, but only a little. She doesn’t need fake eyelashes or weird shit done to her eyebrows. She’s natural looking, but not like she just came off a weeklong camping trip.
Clearly a woman who wants to look pretty for herself. Not to try to snare a man.
“Hi.” I set my feet on the floor and spread my legs so she stands within mine.
She takes the opportunity to step in closer, and I set a hand on her waist. Yeah, all soft curves.
Her lips are full and covered in shiny gloss. Fucking kissable.
She smiles. “I’m Sadie, and I wonder if you can do me a favor.”
Hmm… A favor? If it involves those more-than-a-handful tits or any other square inch of her, I’m happy to help.
“Sure.”
There is no other answer.
“I’m here with a bachelorette party, which I’m sure is pretty obvious.” She thumbs over her shoulder toward the ladies who are making more noise than the rest of the patrons combined.
I offer a nod.
The music changes again and a few people move to the dance floor.
“Part of the fun is to do a dare,” she continues.
“A dare?”
