To find out Iris was a little possessive was a little hot, she was like a little Doberman ready to attack and God, I loved it.
“I bet he’s a fucking freak in bed,” one of them said.
Iris turned around and I wrapped my arm around her to keep the peace. We also didn’t need their marriage or our arrangement getting out.
“I hate Buckle Bunnies,” she muttered, as we watched Nash walking, raising his eyebrow at us.
I shook my head, hoping he understood it was nothing.
“It’s a compliment. They want what you have,” I said, kissing her forehead, hiding my smile.
“Let’s go see if we can catch him by the gate,” one girl squealed.
“In her fucking dreams,” Iris snapped.
“I think you need a drink and some food,” I said, leading her in the opposite direction the girls had gone.
“I definitely need a drink,” she said, squeezing my hand as we went into this little makeshift bar with a hot man as the bartender.
“What can I get y'all?" he asked, as we squeezed into a spot where Iris could sit and I could stand close to her.
“Two shots of Casamigos Repo and two bottles of whatever local beer you have,” Iris ordered for us.
“Damn, Sweets,” I chuckled.
“I got a lot of things to drink about,” she shrugged.
I laughed as the bartender put our shots down. “You’re right. To forgetting.”
“To forgetting!” Iris yelled, slamming her shot back with no salt or lemon, taking it straight.
“I hope we aren’t forgetting me,” Nash said next to me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is everything ok?”
Iris and I spoke at the same time.
He smirked. “Everything is great. I thought I’d leave a little early and enjoy my win and the rest of the rodeo with y’all.”
“Oh my god, you're Nash Yarbrough!” One of the girls that was sitting near us decided to show up.
“Oh, fuck my life,” Iris murmured, before ordering more shots.
“Do you think we could get an autograph, we've been following you for years,” another girl said.
I chuckled at Iris’ eye roll.
“Sure,” Nash said, looking a little uncomfortable.
“I have nothing for you to sign, so would you sign here?” One of them pointed to her chest.
Good lord.
“No point in signing that, it’s just gonna wash off,” Nash said, signing a hat one woman gave him. “I can sign your ticket.”
“Oh, I don’t mind if it washes off. I can take a picture,” she grinned.
