“Then there’s Charming,” she continues. “He’s the one with the curly hair and the two blondes on his arms, currently flashing his dimples like a weapon. And yeah, he lives up to the name, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
It’s true. The man is basically a walking cologne ad—dimples, curls, and women who want to snatch him up like he’s the last drink at happy hour. Not even subtle about it.
“And then there’s Danger.” Her tone shifts, just slightly. “That one’s… different. Still has the Stetson-approved jawline and the bull rider body, but he’s not all fun and games like the rest. People used to say he’d be the one to settle down. He had this high school sweetheart—cheerleader, beauty queen, the whole nine yards. But she left town right after she had his baby. Left them both behind. He hasn’t been with anyone since.”
I glance his way. Danger. Of course the brooding one has the tragic backstory. He’s practically radiating tall, dark, and don’t-even-go-there energy. Which, naturally, makes him a little more interesting.
After a while, Honey spots someone she knows. She jumps off the truck in excitement and hugs them, trailing off deep into conversation. Then I'm alone with my beer and people watching all by myself.
"Didn't expect to see you out here," a voice drawls behind me—low, rough, and annoyingly familiar.
It’s Trouble. His shirt is open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, tattoos climbing his veiny forearms like wildflowers in a field.
I don't bother to smile. “I must’ve forgot to install the ‘Trouble Tracker’ app so I can avoid you properly.”
He lets out a low chuckle, leaning against the tailgate beside me like he was invited.
“Guess you need that and a GPS, darlin’. Looks like you’re still lost. Thought Chicago was in the other direction.”
"Funny." I drag my thumb through the condensation on my beer. "Just so you know, when I bend down to pick up another drink, that's not an invitation to feel me up."
"Don't you worry, sugar. Now that I know who you are, I wouldn't touch you if you paid me."
I let that hang in the air for a second, then turn to face him. "Good, because I know exactly who you are, too."
He looks genuinely interested. "Can't wait to hear this."
“You know what I think?” I say, eyeing him over the rim of my drink. I shouldn’t care that he just said he wouldn’t touch me. He's hot, yeah, but still a man, and I know exactly how that ends. What really bugs me is how impossible he made it sound. Not that I’d ever let him see it.
“You’re just a guy who’s too scared to leave his little hometown. You like feeling like a big shot in a town with two stoplights and one gas station. But in a real city?” I let my eyes drag down to his boots and back up. “You’d be nothing but background noise.”
His jaw ticks. “Guess you got me all figured out,” he says coolly. “But at least I’ve got power here. My guess? You don’t have power anywhere. So what’s that say about you, princess?”
Oh. Hell. No.
I push off the tailgate, slow and casual, like I’ve got all the time in the world and nothing to prove—when really, I’m about to burn this field down.
“Hold that thought,” I say sweetly.
Three of Trouble’s brothers are laughing nearby, beers in hand, already watching like they know something’s coming. Charming, with his stupidly perfect dimples and a mess of sun-kissed curls, gives me a slow once-over and raises his drink like we’re toasting.
“Evenin’, boys.” I flash my most innocent smile. “I was just telling your brother I’ve never shotgunned a beer before.”
Charming damn near chokes. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.” I glance between them, letting the silence stretch. “Think one of you could teach me?”
It’s like tossing raw meat to a pack of hungry wolves. Green Eyes—the one that did a shotgun earlier—practically dives for a can, flipping it in his hand. Danger pulls out his keys like he’s about to carve a work of art. Charming slides closer, suddenly very invested. This was easier than I expected.
“Oh, sweetheart, you came to the right tailgate,” Charming says, already grinning. “Step one: you gotta crack it right… here.” He takes my hand and shows me the spot on the can. His fingers are warm, a little calloused. Definitely used to working—not that I’m paying attention.
I let out a light laugh and casually place my hand on his bicep. “Wow. Do they make all of you in a factory somewhere?”
Behind me, Trouble yells, “Ya’ll are pathetic! Don't let her fool you.”
They ignore him. Green Eyes is already holding the beer at the ready, his eyes locked on me like I’m the main event. “Then you just go for it, darlin’.”
I do. I shotgun the beer, and they don’t know it, but it’s certainly not my first time. Foam hits my chin, and the crowd hoots, including a few randoms who wandered over to watch.
