No flash, only the lightest of clicks... as he tilts his head toward me. Brown eyes raise to meet my gaze.
Leaning on the bar, I slip from the stool. My finger depresses the button once more. Annoyed, I pull the strap over my head and pack my equipment away. My art has gotten me in trouble enough for one day.
His head swings back to the glass in front of him. I suck in a lung-stretching breath and walk his way. Hovering, I hesitate, chewing my bottom lip. He has every reason to hate me. I’m not only inexperienced at this type of gig, I could have cost him a lot more than lost points.
The man beside him stands and offers me his seat. I try my best to deflect, but Jones’s brown eyes meet mine from under his black hat. “Sit down.”
“O-okay.” I fumble with my bag, putting it on the bar before shifting it to the floor by my feet. After a moment I rustle up the courage to?—
“Hadley Jones.” His hand extends toward me.
I slip mine into it. His wraps around mine so easily.
“Maggie Gallagher, who is very sorry.”
His eyes narrow. “Yep, that’s not going to cut it, I’m afraid.”
He releases my hand like it’s on fire and turns his attention back to his drink.
“Look, I really am sorry about the flash. I didn’t really know.”
“How do you not really know?”
“Well, I mean I forgot, I guess.”
“So you did know, you just forgot.” It’s a statement, not a question. His voice is harsh. Guess he’s not going to forgive me anytime soon. Fair enough.
I shuffle closer, wanting to explain myself. For him not to hate me. Like Levi said, it’s a long season.
“Hadley,” I start. He downs the last mouthful of the amber liquid and stands. Unlike many other cowboys that were behind the chutes today, he isn’t sporting a shiny belt buckle. If I thought he towered over me before, now, sitting here, he’s intimidating as he closes the distance between us.
“To think I was going to give you a break since you didn’t have a clue about the flash. Turns out you’re just hopeless.”
My mouth gapes.
He slams his glass down on the bar beside me. I flinch on the stool. We’re only inches apart. His cologne shrouds my space. My gaze wanders up his freshly shaved neck and jawline.
He’s gorgeous.
A gorgeousasshole.
What is with these fucking cowboys? They’re either all over you or assholes.
I prefer the latter, but still.
“See you around, Gallagher.”
He walks away from the bar, rounding the crowd gyrating to some trending song, then heads for the open field area where the pickups and cars are parked.
Well, that went well.
“Howdy, darlin’,” a voice drawls to my left. “Needin’ some company?”
An old cowboy sways on his seat. He sends a finger into the underside of his hat, pushing it up as he smiles. At least three teeth are missing and he slurs, “Those bull riders are no good, darlin’. You come home with me.”
Hell no.
I’m off the stool so fast, I almost twist an ankle. I need to go back to my van ASAP. I’m not sure I’m cut out to be in this roughredneck world. Once I’m safe inside Betsy, as Mom named her, I’ll flip through my images before I call it a night.
