“Yes, absolutely. I can text my sponsor representative, Greg, now and let him know—unless you need to request the time off first?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d say yes because I kind of already did today.” She smiles shyly, but the excitement in her eyes shines through.
Jessie has always wanted to travel but never has—outside of the few rodeos she’s attended with Kacey. This is a big deal for her, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make it perfect.
“I hope you don’t mind flying first class.”
She smiles bigger now, shaking her head in disbelief.
I shoot Greg a text.
We’re down an entire pizza and bottle of wine when Jessie climbs up on the counter.
“Hawkins, what are you doing?” I grumble as I stand to catch her short ass if she falls. I’m not a tall guy—most bull riders aren’t—but Jessie’s so little, my frame dwarfs hers. She and Kacey both look like tiny humans, but while Jessie has curves, Kacey has a more athletic build. I prefer curves.
She ignores me, standing on the counter digging around in the top cabinet.
I can’t help myself—I check out her ass. After several moreclangandtinknoises, she looks down at me with a smug grin on her face. And a bottle of whiskey in her hand.
Oh, fuck. Is Jessie broken?
I know she likes to drink and have a good time every now and then, but never withme.
“Pineapple really gets you going, huh?”
She laughs as she squats to jump off the counter. “No, it just makes me taste good.”
I almost swallow my tongue at the thought of laying her out on the table to test this theory. That’s it, I’m listing bull names—Jawbreaker, Richard Slam, Slamwich—to once again fight off a boner.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
Before I can recover, the red-headed tornado I have released digs around inside a drawer. I watch her, using every bit of my self-control to refrain from asking about testing the pineapple taste theory.
“Aha!” she exclaims, pulling out a deck of cards. “Gin rummy?”
Still contemplating my taste-testing question, I reply, “Sure, I’m game.” I grab the bottle of whiskey out of her hand because, lord knows, I’m going to need it.
After I mix us both drinks, Jessie deals the cards.
We play a of couple hands—I win both—talking shit, drinking whiskey, and flirting before a slightly-tipsy Jessie asks a slightly-tipsy me, “Care to up the ante?”
I watch her for a second, trying to gauge what she has in mind. I’ve never experienced Jessie like this, so relaxed and carefree. A little wild even. I’ve heard stories about her earlier in her twenties with Kacey and even seen it, once or twice over the last year, but she’s different tonight. She’s always more guarded around me, careful not to get too close or flirt too much, butnot tonight. I don’t know what’s changed, but I like her like this. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Instead of the last one to a hundred points loses, the first one naked loses.”
Am I dead? Have I died and gone to heaven?
“Yes,” I blurt without hesitation. We might be on our way to drunk and about to cross a line, but I’ve been waiting a year to cross lines with Jessie Hawkins.
She shuffles the cards, and I mentally hype myself up to kick her ass. I already won the first couple of hands. I have to win. I need to know what’s under those leggings.
I lose the first hand.
Fuck. I didn’t wear socks.
Chapter 18
Jessie
