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“Hi,” she croons in a purposefully husky pitch. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re, like, really hot.”

My exhale is a stream of frustration as I pin her with a flat stare. “How would I take that the wrong way?”

Her giggle is shrill, piercing through the idle chatter swarming the bar. “You’re soooo funny!”

I let my head hang for a moment, relishing a momentary reprieve under the straw brim of my cowboy hat. This is what I get for building a reputation as the PRCA’s most fuckable playboy. According to the rumors, I’ll stick my dick wherever it’s welcome. But if the truth came out, most would give me a wide berth. The remaining few would become even more relentless, which is why I keep it under wraps.

“Don’t waste your time on me,” I tell the redhead still hovering in my personal space.

“It’s not a waste.” She leans against me, pressing her breasts into my arm. “Buy me a drink and see what happens.”

“No.”

The hunger in her muddy brown eyes fades. “That was super rude.”

“About time you noticed. Now,” I drawl. “Do yourself a favor and leave me alone.”

She crinkles her nose. “Are you seriously turning down a sure thing?”

“Yes.”

“Your loss.” Her hair whips my cheek as she whirls around, finally getting the memo.

I brace myself for another interruption, but only shadows greet me. The strain bleeds from my posture and I slump into the pillar at my back. All it takes is a single glance at Gemma for me to straighten, waiting for the slightest cue to intervene.

While I was distracted, the dynamic between her and Wyatt shifted significantly. Thick tension radiates from their awkward pose—the type I can chew on like jerky. It’s as if they’re trying to escape each other without moving.

My boots are already in motion, hauling me toward them to get a better look. Gemma pushed up her sleeves to cool off in this stuffy sea of bodies. The reflexive move put her scars on display. Most wouldn’t blatantly gawk. Wyatt isn’t most, and lacks common decency. Revulsion pinches his ugly mug into a twisted visage from a horror film.

Gemma’s expression crumples, but she recovers quickly. Her brave face stares him down with an upward lift to her chin. She’s daring him to speak his mind. If he does, I’ll be dragging him outside real quick. His sneer casts her aside while he scans the room for another unwilling victim.

And I’ve seen enough.

I stalk toward their stools in the center of the rail. People make a path for me, forming a semicircle to watch my confrontation.

“Is this man bothering you, Wildflower?”

Gemma doesn’t look surprised to see me. Her eyebrow quirks in my direction while she sighs loudly. “Yes, but it’s not your problem.”

“Actually, it is.” I take off my hat and drag my fingers through my hair, trying to adopt an apologetic expression. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You’re officially stalking me? That’s not a secret, but thanks for the public announcement.”

That’s the moment Wyatt abandons his attempt to flee, choosing to square off against me instead. “You’re crashin’ my date, Benson. This pussy is mine tonight.”

I bristle at his crude language, especially directed at Gemma, but I don’t take my gaze off her. “The doctor just gave me some very unfortunate test results and I’m supposed to share them with anyone I’ve been with.”

Gemma’s mouth drops open, but she can’t find the words to cuss me out.

Wyatt has no such struggle. “The fuck you just say?”

My shrug is heavy, playing up the shameful role. “This shit happens. I should’ve been more careful.”

“You slept with this clown?” He hitches a thumb at me as if I’m the scum in this scenario.

“Bareback,” I provide.

Wyatt cringes. “Nasty.”