Page 17 of Wanted By You

Alison huffs, giving me a side-eye. “No. His Facebook says he’s twenty-three, thank you very much. And he’s got a real job—I mean, he still lives with his parents, but he’s living in the room above the garage, so it’s kind of like an apartment.”

I tip my head to the side. “I thought you liked them older, not a year younger than you.”

“I thought you liked them a max of five years older thanyou, not ten years like Butch,” she snaps back with some extra sass behind her.

I scoff loudly. “I never said Ilikedhim. Besides, considering he could’ve been arrested for beating Colt for me, it’s only fair I—I don’t know…be friends with him? And ten years isn’t bad.”

“Ha.” She points a finger right in my face. “I knew it!”

She really won’t let this one go. “I didn’t say anything.” I wave her off. “You know what, forget picking me up.”

Alison waves me off in return. “Quit being dramatic, I’ll pick you up. But when Butch and you end up K-I-S-S-I-N-G in the parking lot, I’ll be the one snapping pictures as proof to show around town.”

“And to me,” Janice adds with a laugh.

I shake my head, smiling despite myself.

I’m late.

But that’s what happens when your diabetic dog eats half a package of defrosting hotdogs on the counter while you’re in the shower.Dammit, Frankie.I really need to get a camera set up to see how the hell he does it.

It’s almost 9:30 PM as I hurry to the front door of Tavern Nine, and the place is just as packed as last time, if not more. The bouncer eyes me with a smug grin, earning an eye roll from me.

I went with the ripped daisy dukes and off-the-shoulder black blouse. My makeup is better than I’ve done in months—I seriously have no idea how I got matching winged eyeliner on both sides. On my first try, mind you. I decided to ditch the heels in place of my flip-flops, in case I need to make a run for it again tonight.

Thankfully, it’s late June and a beautiful night.

The bouncer gives me a dip of his head in acknowledgment, again not bothering to check my ID as I squeeze my way inside. I take a quick scan of the bar and note the unfortunate sight of my brother and his drinking buddies by the bar with Mindy on his lap yet again. I shake my head, weaving around a few people until I see a tall, tower of muscle I recognize with his back to me ordering from the bar.

He’s got on dark wash jeans, a pair of black steel-toed boots, and a tight black T-shirt, making his thick muscled arms pop. He somehow appears bigger with his black and grey tattoos on full display.

I smile, going to him. “Hey.”

Butch glances back over his shoulder and all the way down to me. His expression quickly morphs from one of annoyance to one of surprise. It’s almost comical. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I’m late. My dog got into some hotdogs,” I tell him, leaning over the bar to get Jack, the bartender’s, attention.

“No worries,” he says, seeming to relax a little more at the sight of me. I inch closer to him to make room for others trying to squeeze in near the bar. “What are you drinkin’ tonight?”

“Not sure yet.” I point to his beer in hand. “Are you a strictly beer drinker?”

“Beer or whiskey.”

“Hey, Cass, what’ll it be?” Jack asks me. “We’ve got the margarita special going, but I’ll tell ya, they’re not as strong as last time. Apparently, I was overdoing it on the tequila.” He chuckles.

That’s an understatement.

I smile. “I think I’ll pass on the margaritas tonight, Jack. Get me a shot of tequila and a Mexican mule.”

“You got it,” he slaps the counter, heading off to make my drink.

I reach into my purse to pull out my wallet, but Butch stops me with his heated, calloused hand on mine. “I got it,” he says, tossing a fifty on the counter.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“So, what’s in a Mexican mule?” he asks.

“Ginger ale, tequila, and lime,” I reply. “They’re addicting if made right.”

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