“You don’t have anything to prove to me either, Gray.”
Something flashes in his eyes as he sips his beer. The whiskey from my glass burning my throat down into my belly with my own swallow. But there’s a different burn there, too. One lower in response to the way this sexy-as-sin man is staring at me. No one has ever looked at me quite like that.
“I’m a vet tech.”
I nearly spit out my whiskey. Gray gives the impression of being the manliest man. Someone who drives tractors or builds whole houses with his bare hands. Not someone who cares for sick animals. “Um, that’s a surprise.”
“Why?”
“You don’t look the type.”
“And how many have said the same to you?” The muscles in my jaw tighten. Fuck this man and how he can see my every inner piece of self-doubt I’ve worked my ass off to hide.
“Favorite animal?” An innocuous question, but necessary. I feel like he’s undressing me in front of everyone, and it just makes me that much more uncomfortable.
“Goat.”
I let out a barking laugh just as Betty slides a fresh set of drinks in front of us. “Okay, Gray Garrison, tell me more.”
Time passes as I sit with Gray, talking about everything and nothing. Surprisingly, he’s charming. So different from the abrasive man I met earlier. On more than one occasion, his large palm finds my thigh, my legs still nestled between his. His touch sears me through the scrubs, and I find myself wishing he were touching my bare skin more than once.
My hand finds his chest as I lean forward, laughing at the ridiculous story he’s telling me about his cows breaking into his house, when a squeal sounds to my left.
“There you are!”
Joy, the girl from the rodeo, slides up next to me. “Hey, Grayson.”
“Hey,” he nods.
“Have you been sitting here the whole time?” Joy asks.
“Yup.” The P popped, thanks to the five or seven drinks I’ve had.
“Well, enough of that. Time to dance.” She yanks me from the stool, my knees knocking into the hard muscle of Gray’s thigh.
“Bye,” I wave before I’m shoved into a swarm of people, groaning.
This isn’t my thing.
I don’t know the steps.
Chapter 4
Grayson
Ican’ttakemyeyesoff of her. Not her face or her curves or those scrubs that fit her like a glove. I’ve never seen a rodeo doc wear scrubs, but I sense a kindred spirit in her. A need to prove herself to everyone around her. The same purgatory I’ve been stuck in my whole life.
Only now, she’s drunk and trying to keep up with Joy, the new horse’s hand this season, and some other woman.
That broad smile never leaves her face, her eyes finding mine every time a song ends. She’s a mess. I know the steps to every single one of these tracks, but she clearly doesn’t.
Chugging the last of my beer, I’m about to walk up to her when Tate taps Joy’s shoulder.
She spins on him, mouth pressed into a straight line while Tate says something to her. The way he removes his hat, running his hand over the back of his hair that stretches past his shoulders, tells me he’s apologizing.
It would be nice if he gave me the same courtesy once in a while. Tate can be such a dick. Walking around like he’s all high and mighty. Always trying to replace Dad.
Dad was the only parent I’d ever known. His death when I was seventeen leaving a massive hole inside me, I don’t think I’ve ever filled. A hole Tate has tried to occupy.
