It’s because she looks confident despite her differences, because she seems completely comfortable in her own skin, and therefore in this venue. Or anywhere, I’d bet.
‘Well, cowboy, what’s the deal?’ she asks, looking up at me.
I grin pro forma. ‘We start with a drink and go from there.’
She eyes the bar suspiciously. ‘It’s a little hectic.’
‘There somewhere else you gotta be?’
She shakes her head, but I spy some of the guys from the tour across the room. ‘Come with me,’ I say, nodding toward them. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach down and touch her back, to draw her closer and pull her through the crowd at my side, but I know that if I give in to temptation, I’ll find it almost impossible tostoptouching her.
When we reach the group, I start making introductions. Bailey holds out her hand and shakes each of theirs, reminding me of when we met at the airport and I wrapped her small, soft fingers in mine. Even then I felt a spark of awareness, the kind that usually tells me I need to do something about it.
‘I’m buyin’.’ My gaze moves from Bailey to the other guys, confirming they’re all ready for another beer, then pull myself away from her. Bailey’s eyes flick to mine.
‘You good here?’
I feel her hesitation like a pulse, but she nods once. ‘Yeah, of course,’ she says. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Don’t y’all dish any dirt,’ I say over my shoulder. ‘She’s a reporter.’
There’s a loud whoop from one of the riders, but I’ve turned by then and got my head down, making my way through the crowd.
I’m not someone who takes advantage of my success on the tour, and the name I’ve earned. That’s definitely not me. I’m happy to wait my turn in line, to go about my business. But somewhere like this I can’t help but be recognised, and I’ve barely been at the bar two minutes before someone comes up to serve me, insists on letting me go even when I try to push other customers in front. I reluctantly order the drinks then pass around a sheepish smile. It’s met with big grins in return.
‘Hey, handsome. You did good tonight.’
A woman with glossy brown hair and huge blue eyes is smiling up at me. Just her tone is enough to tell me what she’s thinking.
‘Thanks, ma’am.’ I smile back easily.
‘You looked real good too.’
‘Looked?’ I prompt, aware that I’m going through the motions of flirting for the sake of it. Because it’s expected of me. Because it’s what I usually do. But in the back of my mind, I’m still thinking about Bailey, wondering if she’s okay, wondering if she’s looking at me. Being glad as all get-out that she did change her mind and decide to come to the bar with me after all. ‘Past tense?’
The woman’s laugh is low and soft. ‘Oh, present tense too. From what I can tell, anyway.’
The bar guy returns with a tray of beers. I hand over some cash, then glance back to the woman. ‘One of those for me?’
‘It can be,’ I say. After all, what would my dad say if I turned a lady down for a drink?
‘You’re a real gentleman,’ she purrs.
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Can I help you carry that?’
‘I got it.’ I smile back at her and nod to the group of riders I’m with. With any luck, she’ll attach herself to one of the others and I can go back to staring at Bailey like my life depends on it.
Chapter Seven
Bailey
Isee it out of the corner of my eye, and the only thing that is surprising about my reaction to watching Beau Donovan get picked up is the speed and ease with which it happens. One minute he’s gliding to the front of the epic bar line, and the next some woman’s at his side, glued to him with what looks like the same hungry heat I’d been feeling a minute ago.
It’s the press conference all over again. Anger and jealousy surge through me—anger at myself for being so stupid. Again. For letting myself feel like there was some weird, unique spark between Beau and me, when he just flirts for the sake of it.
He’s a young guy—okay, not necessarily for bull riding, but in the general sense—and a stunning specimen of masculinity. Which women obviously notice, and he’s not afraid to exploit. Why shouldn’t he make the most of his assets?
