"You look stunning," Honey sings out like she can’t help putting every word to melody. I slide onto a stool at the bar. Her eyes sparkle like the ice in the glass she's filling. "So glad you came tonight. It’s gonna be a night to remember."
"We'll see about that," I mutter. My gaze drifts across the room, where I see my brother talking to Daddy in a booth.
"Here you go." Honey pushes forward a tequila sunrise. "You're gonna need this."
"Thank you." I tilt my head, giving her a thankful look as I push away from the bar and head toward my family.
"Mind if I join?" I ask, glancing at Daddy, who looks annoyed to see me.
He nods while my brother shifts to make room. I slide into the booth, the sticky vinyl clinging to the bare skin of my thighs exposed by the denim shorts.
"Didn't think you'd come," Knox says, glancing from my drink to me.
"Well, if I'm stuck here, might as well do what the locals do."
"You aren't stuck here," Daddy grumbles. His eyes, darkand clouded, fix on me with frustration. "Go on back to that city life you love so much."
"Soon enough, Daddy," I say, being as defiant as I can. "Once we talk about the ranch."
A strand of blonde hair falls across my face, and I blow it away. Dad's lips press into a thin line, and I can almost hear the unspoken arguments gathering behind his stern expression. But they remain there, unvoiced, as the music swells and the crowd cheers.
"There's nothing to talk about," he snaps. "I told you that. You're wasting your time."
He doesn't wait for my response. His gaze slides past me, latching onto someone in the distance. "Carl is over there. If you'll excuse me—" He stands and leaves the booth.
Turning to Knox, I let out a dry chuckle. "Well, this is going great."
Knox leans forward, resting his elbows on the scarred wood table. "Just give him a little time," he reassures me, and I catch the earnest plea in his gaze.
I'm about to respond when the door swings open, carrying in all the Stetson men. Cowboy hats are tipped back just enough to be cocky. All of them inherited that devil-only-knows grin. Judging by the collective glancing and gawking happening around me, I’m not the only one who noticed.
Each of them orders a drink, and within seconds, women are there—drawn in like it’s instinct. They flock to the cowboys’ sides, sliding into the open spaces around them, tossing their hair and laughing a little too loudly at jokes that would never land without those jawlines.
"Seems like they're quite the hit around here."
Knox grins, his blue eyes lighting up with amusement. "Buckle bunnies," he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s nothing new.
"Is that a real thing?" I ask. My gaze flicks back to the scene at the bar, where the Stetson men are certainly the center of attention.
Knox nods, his smile widening. "Oh yeah. And don’t ask me how I know."
Charming heads our way, eyes glinting with mischief under the brim of his hat as he yells, "Are you two going to sit and watch all night, or come have some real fun and join the line dance?"
Knox slouches back. "No, thanks," he says, but I know the truth—he’s easily persuaded.
I don't hesitate. "Yes, we're going," I declare, standing up before my fingers curl around Knox's wrist, and I tug him with me.
"Come on," I coax him.
We fall right into step as the music blares over the speakers. It’s like I never left, the steps coming to me like second nature. And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, I let the town wrap around me like a well-worn leather jacket, familiar and strangely comforting in its embrace.
"See?" I tease, my voice barely rising above the music as I nudge Knox. "Not so bad, is it?"
A chuckle rumbles from his chest, and Knox’s eyes crinkle with genuine amusement. "Alright, you got me," he admits, and there's an ease in his movements now, a joy that's infectious. I missed Knox, and for a moment, I almost miss this town.
When the song winds down, Knox and I fall out of sync and make our way back to the bar. Honey catches my eye. With a knowing nod, she reaches for the shaker. Her hands make quick work as she mixes the colors of a sunset into myglass. The tequila sunrise—one I never drink in the city, but for some reason, in this town, it’s exactly what I need.
I turn just as the man next to me does, his movements slow and unhurried. His head moves first, and then his eyes—those deep, assessing pools of hazel—seem to see straight through me. His gaze drags down the length of me slow and unapologetic, lingering on the fringe of my top, tracing the curve of my denim, pausing at the scuff on my boots like he’s cataloging every detail. And just like that, I know it’s Trouble.
