Page 19 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

“Great,” I said with determination, the sparkly fringe of her jacket brushing against my hand.

She was not my type—at all. Everything about her screamed city girl, from the overly polished look to the glittery attempt at fitting in. I couldn’t stand girls who thought sparkles and rhinestones meant they understood anything about our world, about my lifestyle.

Girls like her didn’t know how to get down and dirty—never felt the sting of calloused hands or the satisfaction of mud-soaked boots after a hard day’s work. They played dress-up, chasing the look without the grit.

As she turned her head slightly, her blonde hair catching in the wind, I realized there was something different about her. That fire in her eyes, the way she didn’t shrink under my gaze or hold her tongue—that wasn’t the attitude of someone playing dress-up. That was someone who might surprise me, who might have a streak of wild under all that polish.

Still, I wasn’t convinced. She looked too put-together, too clean, like she’d walk off the set of some Instagram photoshoot the second her boots got a scuff. Girls like her didn’t last long out here. But damn, something about her made me curious, something that made me want to see how far she could push back.

Maybe I’d let her prove me wrong. Or maybe I’d just enjoy the show. Either way, I wasn’t letting her go.

“One, I don’t know you, and two, a long time ago, I was told that I should never accept rides from strangers.”

“Not a stranger. We met a few minutes ago when you ran into me.”

“You”—she shoved my chest—“propositioned me in a lewd way in that meeting too.”

My lips quirked. “Offer still stands.”

“See,” she huffed and then continued to walk toward the road.

“Wait, wait.” I grabbed her again. “I’m kidding. Sorry, my big-ass mouth doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“Maybe it’s that mustache that’s making you dumb.”

See. Fiery. Commence dick twitching.

“Baby, it’s just a handlebar, gives a little extra friction down there when you’re riding me like a⁠—”

She gagged.

“Do not finish that sentence.” She pushed me back again, and I held up my hand in surrender. “This is why I cannot accept a ride from you. You’ve hit on me a hundred times since I met you ten minutes ago. Plus, I don’t even know your name.”

What an idiot. “You’re right. Sorry ’bout that. The name is Beaudreau Banks, but my friends call me Beau.”

Her eyes lit up in surprise. “Oh, you’re the guy who won tonight.”

That twisted smug smile made its way back to my lips. “You payin’ attention to me, Cowgirl?”

“Nope. I liked the blonde from earlier,” she said with a wink.

“Come on, baby. Don’t play me like a fool. I can see the way you want me.”

She rolled her eyes and turned, storming off like a wildfire—fierce, untamed, and leaving chaos in her wake. She was a stunning kind of destruction, all strawberries and vanilla, with deep green eyes that burned with defiance and long honey-colored hair that rippled like silk in the wind.

“I’ll take you out, get you a drink, then I’ll take you back home.”

“No thanks,” she said as she waved.

Damn, she was fast, even in those stiff boots that had to hurt her feet.

“I’ll take you home, then. No funny business.”

“Nope,” she huffed, her breath visible in the cold air as she strode toward the edge of the parking lot.

I stepped forward and reached out, gently grabbing her hand to stop her. “Listen,” I said, meeting her fiery gaze. “I’m freezing. I’m from Texas—I don’t do this kind of weather. I’m trying to be a gentleman here, so please, let me take you home.”

She tugged her hand back and crossed her arms. “You don’t even know my name.”