“There was a distinct giggle.”
“You were eight. I thought it was sweet.”
He gives a self-deprecating chuckle. “Yeah, well, I have always had a thing for older women.”
Sawyer coughs like she just inhaled her water instead of swallowing it. I flush pink as his eyes linger a touch too long on mine.
“I think I need another drink,” I say quickly.
“What’re you drinking? I’ll get it for you.”
“Oh, um, thanks. Tequila and tonic.”
“You've got it.” He flashes a sheepish smile and heads for the bar.
The second he’s gone, I elbow Allie in the ribs. “What are you doing?”
She grins at me—utterly unrepentant. “I thought the boy toy might be a little fun while you’re in town.”
I open my mouth to argue, then snap it shut—swallowing the retort about not needing any help in that department. Allie definitely doesn’t need to know that her brother’s been keeping me plied with regular orgasms for the past couple of weeks.
“I don’t think Wyatt’s interested.”
“Right. And Linda Andreasen isn’t the biggest gossip in town,” Sawyer says, tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You look hot as hell tonight, Quinn. Every man in the bar has been checking you out since you walked through the door.”
“Here you are, my lady,” Wyatt says, sliding the drink toward me with a bow.
Sawyer’s eyes roll. “Christ, Wyatt.”
“Smooth,” Allie jokes.
I bite back my smile, not wanting to embarrass him more, but he just shakes his head at them and plops down in the chair next to me.
“So, what have you been up to the past—” he glances up at the ceiling like he’s calculating—“decade or so?”
I take a deep pull from my glass before I answer. “Working as a veterinarian in Rapid City.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. You always did have a way with the animals.”
I clear my throat, uncomfortable at the way he’s looking at me and suddenly wishing Tripp were here. I miss the steadiness of his presence and the warmth of his hand on my thigh.
Wyatt launches into a story about working at his family’s ranch, one that’s bigger than Dawson Ranch in both acres and head of cattle. I half-listen, sipping my drink and nodding at the right moments. Sawyer and Allie are deep in their own quiet conversation, leaving me on my own with Wyatt in a way that feels purposeful.
Wyatt’s arm lands on the back of my chair as he talks, and my stomach curls in on itself. It feels wrong to be sitting here with Wyatt when the man I’ve been sneaking around with is nowhere to be found. It feels like I’m cheating, even though we never set specific parameters for what’s happening between us.
I shift in discomfort and am two seconds from lurching from my chair and excusing myself when a too-sweet voice cuts through whatever Wyatt is saying.
“Excuse me,” Tish Winters says, stepping up to the table with Britney and Mandy flanking her like cronies.
She’s still blonde. Still smug. Still has that permanent mean-girl smile etched onto her face.
At thirty-two, I shouldn’t care what they say or think about me. And yet my insecurities are already filtering to the surface.
“Quinn,” she croons, “I can’t believe you showed your face here again after that little show you put on a few weeks ago on top of the bar.”
Wyatt shifts uncomfortably beside me. Allie gives me a questioning look, but Sawyer’s lip curls as she stabs her straw into her drink.
