“Hey, boys.” She sets down six mugs of beer before we’ve even settled into our seats, predicting exactly what time we’d arrive and what we’d want without fail. We’re in our usual spot against the back wall—just far enough away from the dance floor that annoying drunk girls don’t ask us to dance, but close enough we can check them out.
“Cass, have I told you before how much I appreciate being allowed in this fine establishment?” Genuinely meaning every word, Denny grabs hold of her forearm as she leans across the table to hand Colt a beer.
“Okay, how many road pops did you chug on the drive here?” she asks with a laugh, but her eyes cut to me, brutally slicing through my flesh. The only reason she isn’tliterallycutting me is because her dad, Dave, is twenty feet away and there’d be a lot of explaining to do.
She walks away, hair flowing behind her, and I stare without shame. I’ve always known she’s gorgeous, but she also wasn’t an option. Cassidy Bowman is so far out of my league, but I’ve tortured myself for years watching her from afar. Even in high school, she was pretty, had a huge group of friends, got perfect grades… entirely fucking untouchable for someone like me.
Until the night she wasn’t.
The sight of Cass from across the busy bar quenches my thirst better than any amount of four-dollar beer, and I let myself drink her in. Everything from the golden waves bouncing on her shoulders to the perfectly heart-shaped ass in tight, wet-dream-worthy denim. I soak up her juicy, thick curves—tits barely contained by the low cut of her shirt and hips I want to sink my teeth into. I like that she’s not stick thin; I could grab and bite and rough her up without worrying about breaking her.
With my brain stuck in an unending loop of fantasies about her, the hours fly by. Until it’s sometime after midnight, and I’ve lost count how many beers deep I am. It’s Cassidy’s fault. Both for looking so good I had to keep bringing her back to the table—even though she all but ignored me—and for not cutting me off.
Stumbling to the bathroom, my fingers drag along the hallway’s textured wallpaper. My knees threaten to buckle when a bass drop rattles through the old floorboards. This is the problem with staying here past midnight. The classic country music switches to dance party garbage right around the same time I become too drunk to tolerate the kind of crowd that likes this noise. I push through the cheesy saloon-style bathroom door and firmly hold a palm to the wall above the urinal.
I’m stuck somewhere between needing to take a deep breath to stop from gagging and knowing the smell of piss and urinal pucks will makeme hurl. So I breathe strictly through my mouth and pee as fast as humanly possible.
“Hey man, we’re getting ready to head out.” Colt drums his fingers on the door frame.
“Yeah, give me a minute,” I reply, zipping my fly as I stumble toward the trough-style sink to wash my hands.
A splash of cold water on my face helps snap me out of it. I don’t vomit when I drink—I do a lot of other dumb shit, but I can hold my liquor. After a forceful exhale and a few blinks to clear my blurred vision, I stroll back out to the bar floor.
I turn the corner just in time to see some drunk dipshit grope Cassidy’s plump ass. She turns like she’s going to slap him, and I can’t fucking wait to watch her ruin this man’s life. But, to my horror, he’s hit with nothing more than a scowl and a few words I can’t make out.
That won’t be enough to teach him a lesson.
I see red.
The deep red haze washes over me, glossing my eyes and itching the lizard part of my brain that wants to throw the punch, and worry about consequences later. I guess I hit him. Probably even a few times. It’s hard to tell when you’re in a black out state. Between my heartbeat pounding in my skull and the obnoxiously loud electronica music, I can’t hear anybody around me. The ass-grabbing pervert hits back and, while I’m sure I’ll feel it when I come down from the adrenaline rush, I don’t even wince at his fist making contact with my jaw. My brain shuts down, and I’m swinging, going through the motions until I’m snapped out of it by Denny and Colt grabbing my shoulders to haul me away from the scrap.
“Get the fuck out of here before you’re all banned.” Cassidy’s voice rings out over the commotion happening in my head. Then, most likely directed at me, she adds, “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Me?” I shout. “Fuck is wrong withthatguy?” I point and glare at the ugly, pervy motherfucker nursing his tender jaw.
Cass follows us out the front doors, leaving Dave behind the bar shaking his head. He’s not even phased. Fights are a regular enoughoccurrence, and it’s not uncommon for me to be involved in one way or another. At least I have that on my side. If he suspected I was trying to defend his daughter for any reason other than enjoying a good scrap, I’d be a dead man.
“Let me have a word with him,” Cass snaps at the rest of the crew.
Unsurprisingly, they back off immediately, moving to linger by the tailgate of a truck a few stalls over.
“Are you trying to accomplish something by showing up here acting jealous and possessive?Jesus Christ.” She combs a hand through her hair, dropping her voice to barely more than a whisper. “We hooked up once and it willneverhappen again. We were drunk and made a stupid decision—nothing more. Pull this white knight shit one more time, and you won’t be allowed back here.”
“So I’m supposed to let—”
She cuts me off with a sneer. “You’re supposed to ignore me like usual. Treat me like I’m any random server at a bar. Letmedeal with the assholes.”
Easier said than fucking done. I’ve never ignored her. I’ve paid more attention to Cassidy than I can ever admit. Have since the day I met the sassy six-year-old version of her on the playground over twenty years ago. Maybe I’ve made it seem like I don’t see her, but we wouldn’t have hooked up in the first place if I usually ignored her.
She sighs, turning to walk back inside. “Go fuck somebody else and forget about me,please.”
4
Cassidy
6 weeks after the rodeo
Pick up. Or I will murder you. Pick up. Or I’ll drive six hours to turn you into a skin suit. Fucking pick up.
