“Darlin’,” he drawls, voice low and lazy. “You’re wearin’ that country a little too well.”
His gaze flicks down my outfit again, and when it returns to mine, there’s a half-smile on his face—all confidence, no apology. It shouldn’t make my pulse jump. Especially not after that last stunt he pulled. And yet… here we are.
I lift my chin, trying to look unaffected, even as my heart taps a rhythm I can’t ignore. “That’s because Iamcountry,” I say, matching his tone with a little heat of my own. “This town raised me just as much as it raised you.”
He lets out a low chuckle, eyes still on me like he’s seeing something new. “I was about to tease you for playin’ dress-up,” he says, voice dropping just enough to make it dangerous, “But damn... now I’m just tryin’ not to stare at Knox’s little sister.”
“Careful, cowboy. Keep callin’ me ‘Knox’s little sister’ and I might just have to knock you off that high horse.”
His smile broadens, not an ounce of mockery in it, only an infuriating understanding—as if he can see straight through my words. “Maybe you really are country and you just forgot where you came from.”
I lean in, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. And surprisingly, there’s no smell of dirt or sweat, no sign ofthe long day he’s probably had—just that quiet pull of sandalwood, warm and clean. It doesn’t hit all at once. No, it drifts—subtle, restrained, like he knows exactly what that smell does. Just like him, it holds just enough back to keep me curious. And damnit if I don’t want to breathe him in until I forget why I ever thought getting this close again was a bad idea.
“I never forget where I come from, and underestimating me would be a mistake.” My eyes lock onto his, refusing to waver. "I can ride, rope, and wrangle with the best. City life hasn't dulled any of those skills one bit."
"Oh yeah?" His voice is a low drawl. "You wanna bet on that?"
"Bet on what?" I ask, though I already know it’s going to be something ridiculous.
He whispers into my ear, his voice a low drawl that curls around my spine. “Bet you can’t beat my time.”
It takes me a second, maybe less, to realize what he means. I glance at the mechanical bull—coiled and spinning, lit up under neon like a challenge with teeth.
He thinks I won’t do it.
But what he doesn’t know is—I’ve got more grit in these boots than he’ll ever give me credit for. And I hate losing more than how much I can’t stand him.
“And winner gets what?” I ask, arching a brow.
"Anything you want," he says with a smug grin. “A dare. Loser has to do whatever the winner dares them to do. Just one thing—no backing out." He steps in closer. "And when I win… don’t be surprised if I put you to work. Make you my ranch hand for the day.”
"Saddle up then, cowboy."
eleven
Trouble
I settle into the saddle with a cocky tilt of my hat and a smug grin. Locking eyes with Sawyer, I toss her a wink. Riding bulls is etched into my bones, and this little bet won't even make me break a sweat. Atti, a blonde firecracker working the controls, gives me an evil smirk as her fingers dance over the buttons. She's Winnie's best friend, and by default, not exactly a member of my fan club. She’s cornered me more than once on my lack of commitment.
"Go easy on me, Atti," I tease, but the glint in her eye tells me she's got other plans.
Snapping to life beneath me, a low rumble turns into a wild, thrashing storm. My muscles tense, ready for wherever this ride takes me. But as the bull bucks and spins, I feel Sawyer's sharp accessing gaze. The machine beneath me kicks up a notch, and I can't help but think that maybe I’m enjoying whatever game we’re playing more than I let on.
My thighs grip the sides of the mechanical beast as it hits a faster speed—each twist and buck is a little test, a question I answer with the set of my jaw, the flex of my muscles. Atti'sfingers flirt with the controls, her eyes locked on mine for a split second before she slams down on a button. The bull leaps into overdrive, jerking and spinning, trying its best to unseat me.
Out of the corner of my eye, Sawyer's eyes narrow, her expression all coiled energy and untamed spirit, and it's enough to make me hold on just that little bit longer. But you can’t fight gravity forever. The second I feel the timing hit, I let go—rolling off as smooth as I can, cocky grin and all.
The guys are front and center, heckling like it’s their job. “That was embarrassing!” one yells. The whole table cracks up. “I could’ve done that blindfolded!” Charming adds, slow-clapping like a jackass.
Sawyer's presence cuts through it all, though, when she steps forward, those piercing blue eyes drilling into mine, her voice a mix of honey and aged whiskey.
"That was all you got?" she asks with a smirk that says she's already cashed the check from her victory. "This is going to be easy."
"Easy?" I drawl. I give her a wink that could spark wildfires. "Bull rider here, baby. Wouldn't be so sure of yourself."
"Watch and learn," she tosses over her shoulder. It's cute—the way she thinks she's got this in the bag. Adorable, really.
I step aside, granting her center stage, watching as every eye in the room is on her. She trails off, leaving behind the faintest trace of her perfume—some blend of vanilla and wildflowers. The kind of scent you could bottle up, put a pretty bow on, and auction off to the highest bidder.
