B for Benjamin.My brother.She told me she imagined my brother being my guide. The compass over my life when times get tough, and when life feels good.
I’d be lying if I said the sentiment didn’t make me emotional. No one, especially a stranger, has ever done something so authentically special for me. Collie could havetaken the easy route and picked something basic. But she went above and beyond, considering what would mean more.
It took me over an hour to design hers, and I’m still wavering at her response. I’ve learned it’s not often Collie doesn’t have something sarcastic to say. But the first sight of her new hat had her body freezing, and what looked like tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
I’ve run through a list in my head of all the ways I could have fucked it up. Did I choose the wrong color? Is it really that hideous? I’m not a woman, so I don’t know what they like. I’m not offended. More so concerned.
A sadness or something I can’t pinpoint came over her, ending in her hugging me tightly and mumbling a soft thank you.
That was the end of it.
Nothing more. Nothing less. But it’s resting at the top of her head at this moment, looking cute as hell, so I’m choosing to take that as an acceptable sign that she loves it and will inquire further another day.
“Ever seenCoyote Ugly, Ranger?” She bends to her knees, meeting me at eye level across from her with two shot glasses balanced in her hands. One with pickle juice and the other filled to the brim with Jameson.
Technically, we never decided who lost the bet. Both of us responded to the hat outcome much differently than anticipated. But fat chance if she thinks I’m letting her buy our drinks.
“Did you even grow up in our generation if you didn’t?”
“Yeehaw,” Collie hollers, grinning wider and brighter if that’s even possible. “What a guy. I always wanted to dance on a bar top like the coyote girls. Serve alcohol straight to a customer’s mouth through the dispenser. Make bets on thenext song to play from the jukebox. Do anything to feel alive. The coyote girls always looked alive and free.”
“So, that’s where your need to bet on everything came from?” I tease her, arms crossed at my chest to keep from reaching for her.
“Little bit.” She spins on her heels, clapping, slapping her thighs, and twirling her hips without spilling a lick of alcohol in the process. “I’m livin’ the dream.”
Collie fits in here. Her extroverted spirit is loose and even more at ease than usual. She’s beautifully herself.
And I could use another shot. I approach the bar, signaling for the bartender to bring me another round. “Keep ’em comin’,” I mumble loud enough for only him to hear.
“You’re gonna need it,” he tells me, eyes trained on Collie’s legs with heat. Brown and white cowhide boots line her feet, making her look like a natural local to High Noon Hideout.
Those boots wreck me.
I throw back the shot in a single gulp and take my place against the pillar again. High Noon Hideout is downtown’s most cherished country bar. The exterior appears old and worn, lacking the same character the interior brings. Inside, the walls are an urban mix of different shades of brown, and intricate stained glass lines the wall above the bar top, with landscapes of farmlands all across the Wyoming border. Bull and elk horns are tastefully placed throughout the bar, while horse saddles take the place of the traditional barstool design.
The western details can’t be missed. It’s evident High Noon Hideout has been here for decades, but the upkeep was never slept on. It’s clean, maintained, and a good fucking vibe.
The packed bar is a testament to how well-loved it is. Nota single table is without occupancy, hence why I’m standing since even the bar is full. That, and because Collie’s out of her fucking mind if she thinks I’ll leave her up there without a watchful eye. She wasted no time climbing up the nearest surface and joining the few other women on top of the bar.
But those women have nothing on her, and by the looks of it, I’m not the only man in here thinking the same thing. She holds the attention of all of them. She’s an enigma.
I wonder if Collie notices the struggle I feel right now. I can’t ignore the eyes on her, the hands reaching to grope her. I know she’s a grown woman and can handle herself, but I’m a protector to my fucking core. If Ben were here, he’d claim it’s my hero complex showing up again, but I don’t care.
I won’t sleep until the people I love and care about are safe. Especially in my hands. And right now, the dude front and center at the bar is getting too close for my liking.
“Collie,” I mutter, never losing sight of the creepy fucker’s hands.
As if expecting me, she jerks her head in my direction, body still moving to the beat of the music. “Watermelon Crawl” by Tracy Byrd blasts from the speaker, and if we weren’t one of nearly fifty bodies in this crowded bar, I’d probably join her.
But not today.
“Yes, handsome?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief, petite frame rolling in a fluid motion.
“Play pool with me.” I nod to the pool table across the bar, hoping she catches my drift.
Why would I expect her obedience? Collie does what Collie wants. “But I want to dance.” She smiles, sauntering to the edge of the bar top, and calls me toward her with the pull of a finger.
My face reaches her chest in two steps, meeting her perfect complexion, now glistening with sweat. “You good?” I ask, eyeing the row of men still watching her. Let them see who she grants her attention to—me.
