Page 10 of Claimed By the Cowboys

I touch my hair even though I know exactly what it looks like. A tidier, shorter riot of curls than the last time he saw me, secured on one side with a silver clip. Tonight, I’m wearing a sparkly top, at Annie’s request, and new scarlet lipstick that makes me more conscious of my mouth than I’ve ever been.

Bo scans the bar once, those gorgeous eyes passing right over me like I’m a stranger.

My heart stutters as he heads toward the far end of the bar without so much as a nod or a flicker of recognition. Nothing.

What the hell?

I set my drink down hard enough that salt spills across the surface. Annie raises an eyebrow at me, but I’m already moving, pushing through the crowd with my blood boiling.

All the way, my sensible self is telling me this is ridiculous behavior. We never promised each other anything. Bo left making contact totally in my court, and I chose not to. Well, my conscience chose not to. My body had other ideas.

But I can’t stop myself, which says a lot.

Bo’s leaning against the bar, ordering a whiskey when I reach him.

“Seriously? You’re gonna walk past me like that?” The words fly out before I can moderate them into something less confrontational.

He turns, eyebrows lifting slightly. Up close, he looks exactly the same with heavy stubble and messy hair, but there’s something different in how he carries himself. He seems cockier… and more amused.

It’s infuriating.

“Do I know you, darlin’?” he asks with a low, smooth drawl, and the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

The casual “darlin’” is a slap. His pretense at not remembering me flares my temper so fast I tremble. I lean in close to whisper angrily. “Oh, that’s how we’re doing this? Two months ago, you were calling me your ‘good girl,’ and now you don’t even know me? Real classy, Bo.”

His brows draw together for a second, then something like laughter sparks in his eyes. “Bo, huh?”

He looks genuinely entertained, which only pisses me off more. I’m standing here raw and exposed, and he’s treating my anger and hurt like a joke.

“You know what? Forget it. I thought better of you, but I don’t need this bullshit.”

I spin on my heel, embarrassment burning hotter than the anger. I make it two steps before his hand catches my wrist. The touch sends unwanted sparks racing up my arm, familiar in both its strength and its gentleness.

“Wait,” That amused edge is still in his voice. “My name’s not Bo. It’s Jensen. Jensen Caldwell.”

I freeze. The words don’t compute at first. Then they do, and fresh fury surges through me.

“What kind of sick game is this?” I yank my wrist free and whirl on him. “Why would you mess with me like that? I got you so wrong. I thought—”

The rest of the sentence dies in my throat because over his shoulder, the door opens again, and another man walks in wearing Bo’s face.

Same height. Same broad build. Same dark blond hair and stormy eyes. Same huge hands and relaxed gait, but this one moves with that exact reserved but predatory confidence I remember. His gaze sweeps the room once and locks on me immediately. Recognition softens his face. Heat darkens his eyes, and he smiles.

My mouth falls open. The bar noise fades to a dull roar in my ears.

Jensen, because apparently that’s his name, lets out a low chuckle beside me. “Well, shit. Looks like my brother finally decided to show up. And just in time.”

Bo stops a few feet away. His jaw tightens as he takes in the scene: me flushed and furious, his twin looking far too entertained, and my wrist still caught up in a stranger’s big, calloused hand.

“Brandy,” Bo says, in the same liquid voice that murmured praise against my neck while he held me down.

I can’t speak. My brain is short-circuiting. Twins? Identical twins? The man I’ve been secretly aching for over the last two months has a carbon copy who watched me make a complete fool of myself.

Jensen releases my wrist and leans against the bar, crossing his arms, clearly enjoying the chaos. “She thought I was you, brother. Gave me quite the greeting.”

Bo’s eyes flick to me, dark and intense, sliding over my face and down my body with slow, predatory hunger. “That so?”

I want the floor to swallow me whole. Instead, I lift my chin and glare at them.