"You're quiet tonight," Amber says, looking up at me with curious eyes. "Usually you're more... fun."
"Sorry," I mutter, spinning her because that's what I'm supposed to do. "Long week at the ranch."
It's a lie. The week was fine. The ranch is actually doing better than it has in years, thanks to Sierra's investment. Wade and Tucker are happy with their women. Boone's practically glowing now that he and Nicole are together. Mason and Rhett are their usual steady selves.
Everything should be perfect.
But I can't stop thinking about last night. About the way she felt wrapped around my fingers. About the sounds she made when I touched her. About the way she looked at me, like she wanted to lose herself in me the same way I wanted to lose myself in her.
And then she ran.
I keep replaying it in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Was I too aggressive? Did I push too hard? Should I have stopped when that person came into the bathroom instead of keeping my fingers buried inside her?
But she hadn't pulled away. She'd stayed there, trembling and sweating and so close to coming that I could feel her pussy fluttering around my fingers.
Did she really end a relationship? Probably.
"Earth to Colt," Amber says, and I realize I've completely zoned out.
"Sorry." I force a smile. "Like I said, long week."
She pouts, pretty and practiced. "Maybe I can help you relax?"
The offer is clear. Take her home, fuck her, forget about whatever's bothering me. It's worked a hundred times before. Should work now.
But I don't want to.
I want the woman from last night. Want to know her name. Want to know her story: where she came from, why she was at the bar alone, what made her eyes look so sad even when she was smiling. Want to know what hurt her badly enough that she ended up in Blackwater Falls, of all places.
Want to know if she thinks about me the way I can't stop thinking about her.
"I appreciate the offer," I tell Amber, pulling back slightly. "But I think I'm just gonna call it a night."
Her expression shifts from flirty to confused to annoyed in about three seconds. "Seriously? You're turning me down?"
"It's not you—"
"Please don't give me that line." She crosses her arms, her drink sloshing slightly. "Whatever. Your loss."
She stalks off, and I can't even bring myself to care. I head back to the bar, signal Sarah for another beer, and lean against the worn wood, surveying the room.
Groups of friends laughing. Couples slow dancing. Singles on the prowl. The usual Friday night scene in a small Montana town where there's not much else to do.
And none of it appeals to me.
What the hell is wrong with me? I love this. I've always loved this. The freedom, the fun, the lack of complications. No commitments, no expectations, just good times and good company.
But tonight it all feels hollow.
"You look like someone killed your dog," Sarah comments, sliding me my beer.
"Don't have a dog."
"Then you look like someone killed your truck." She grins. "Which would actually be worse for you."
I manage a small smile. "Just not feeling it tonight."
"The mighty Colt Sullivan, not feeling it?" Sarah leans on the bar. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the girl you disappeared with last night, would it?"
