Page 105 of Stay Wild Darlin’

It was a petty and impulsive comment. One that I regretted immediately, but I didn’t take it back because there was some truth laced in my words.

“Dalton Culpepper, sir. I’m her boss.”

My father raised a brow, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Culpepper . . . That name sounds familiar. Your parents live⁠—”

“Yes, sir.” Dalton cut in with a polite nod. “That’s them. Over in Southlake.”

Recognition clicked in my father’s eyes, and the tension shifted. Culpepper meant something.

Dalton turned to my sister next, nodding with that signature ease. “Congratulations. You look incredible. The whole party’s clearly built around you.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He glanced at the man beside her. “And you are?”

The stranger extended a hand with perfect timing. “Gregory De Santos,” he said smoothly. “Her boyfriend.”

Of course he was.

Dalton gave a short nod. “Nice to meet you.”

I snapped out of my trance and extended a hand to Gregory. “Nice to meet you—sorry, that was rude.”

“It was.” My sister cut in, barely missing a beat.

I ignored her, clearing my throat. “As I was saying, it’s nice to meet you. And again, congrats.” I offered a tight smile before adding, “I’m going to grab something to drink.”

Before I could move, my dad shifted his attention to Dalton. “I’d love to talk to you about your parents sometime⁠—”

Dalton gave him a quick, firm squeeze on the shoulder. “Respectfully, sir, I’m a bull rider. I’ve got nothing to do with my parents.”

My father blinked like he wasn’t used to being cut off—let alone with a smile.

Dalton reached for my hand again, casual as anything, and guided me away from them, toward the back of the house.

“Wanna get drunk?”

I laughed—more than I expected to—and he squeezed my hand.

“Please.”

“Man, it’s intense in there,” Dalton murmured.

We were outside, tucked into a quiet corner of the patio, far from the clinking glasses and carefully measured smiles. The silence out here was a welcome contrast to the stuffiness inside.

My parents lived in a sprawling lakefront community, and in the dark, the lake shimmered under the patio lights.

We’d had a little too much to drink. Not drunk, but definitely buzzed. The crisp night air was helping, though, sobering me up to realize how much worse it could’ve gone inside.

We’d done our rounds. My dad had been more than enthusiastic about introducing Dalton as “Dalton Culpepper”—like he was showing off a new car. Every single time, Dalton shut it down with a quiet smile and a firm “Just Dalton’s fine.”

Eventually, I managed to pull us away.

“What’s with the use of your last name? You never use it when you ride bulls. My dad’s acting like it’s some kind of golden ticket.”

He sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Because to people like your dad, it is. My dad’s the CEO of Jimmy Buck.”

I blinked. “The farming company?”