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“Let me help you.”
She blinks up at me, her lips twisted in determination. “No, I can get it.”
“Ow!” I grunt as the pin pricks my chest.
“Oops,” she says with a snort. “Next time, wear an undershirt under your rhinestone cowboy shirt, John Travolta.”
Oh, so it’s like that, is it?
I slide my hands down to her wrists and gently squeeze. She looks up at me again with a severe expression.
“You already made two holes in my shirt; let’s try to fit the pin inside one of those.”
Casey tries to take a step back, but I’ve got her. Pulling her close to me, I murmur into her ear for her and only her: “For some reason, the bidder is supposed to pin the cowboy, so let’s make it look like you’re the one doing it, and then we can both get out of this obnoxious spotlight and go somewhere to talk.”
Casey acquiesces with a slight nod of her chin. My fingers slide over hers, her hand cool and soft.
I feel her eyes on my face as I twiddle the pin with my thumb. “There, that hole is nice and stretched, let’s get it in.”
She pretends to clear her throat. Maybe she’s making a noise to drown out whatever I might say next?
“There,” I say when we’ve got me pinned. “Nice and snug.”
She shakes her head and fights off a smile that tugs on her glossy red lips.
Keeping her hands wrapped up in mine, I look down at the flowers adorning my shirt. “You look good on me.”
Casey huffs and snatches her hands out of my grip. “Be at the ranch tomorrow at five a.m. Don’t be late.”
“Where do you live? What ranch?”
Casey walks away and shows me that although her poet blouse is too large, her jeans are as tight as the skin of a water balloon on her bouncy bottom.
She throws out instructions over her shoulder as she sways away from me. “Ask around. Everyone knows.”
ChapterThree
Casey
I need a minute to gather myself.
Gripping the steering wheel of my car parked outside Willie’s Bar & Grill, I close my eyes and wag my head to clear away the schoolgirl fantasies.
What did I just get myself into?
Did I really just tell that man to meet me at my house at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?
That had been the plan: bid on the cowboy that Violetta had begged me to bid on. Then, turn the tables on his pretty-boy rodeo champion ass by making him do an actual day’s work on the ranch.
But putting that plan to work proved much more intimidating than I’d imagined. From the moment the man ambled onto the stage under the harsh spotlight, I knew I was in trouble. He had his hat pulled down so far I could barely see his face except for an angled jaw and a strong chin. He smiled for the crowd, but that expression was odd. If I could see his eyes, I’d bet his smile wasn’t meeting them. It was clear to me, at least, that he didn’t want to be here.
That makes two of us, I’d said to myself.
The fit of that black cowboy shirt with the pearlescent snaps hinted at sculpted marble shoulders. The black jeans were so tight I could tell he tucked to the left.
I’m sure those thick thighs are as hard as they are due to years of training, but that doesn’t do anything for me.
I prefer a man with more meat on his bones. A dad bod with love handles I can hold on to. Somebody with enough heft to break the headboard and crush me into the mattress.
