Hitching the Cowboy (Circle B Ranch 1)

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous. Can we go now?” I ask, holding my carry-on suitcase like someone’s gonna steal it.

“You’re a cowboy, too?” Her eyes go as big as saucers as her friends giggle.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we gotta go.” I finally grab Diesel’s arm and pull him away.

“You’re such a party foul!” He whines all the way to the front counter of the hotel.

“The party can’t start until we drop our shit off in the room. So quit your complainin’,” I tell him before we check in and take the elevator to the top floor. When we enter the room, he opens the curtains, then walks out on the balcony to take in the view.

“Vegas! I’m gonna make you my bitch tonight!” he screams out into the vastness, and I chuckle at his obnoxiousness.

“I’m gonna shower. Try not to get into too much trouble in the next ten minutes, alright?” I open the minibar, find a little bottle of whiskey, and chug it in one big gulp. It burns going down, but I already know I’m gonna need a lot more than that.

“Big D!” I yell as I walk toward him. “You should go to the liquor store and get us some whiskey to pregame. I’ll buy.”

“In that case, I’m gettin’ a bottle the size of Texas,” he says as I hand him some cash.

“We’re gonna need it,” I tell him, walking to the bathroom.

“I’m on it.” Diesel’s out the door without another glance, and I step into the shower.

Chuckling to myself, I think about Diesel being on the Strip by himself and hope he returns in one piece because he’s been raring to go since before the sun rose. Hell, I’m just hoping he makes it back. After I’m dressed, I wait thirty minutes before I call him, frustrated it’s taking him so damn long. After he doesn’t pick up or return my text messages, I decide to try to find him, and Google the closest liquor store. It’s only a few blocks away, so there’s no reason it should take this long.

As I’m walking down Fremont Street, I’m stopped by entertainers handing out fliers. I grab them and continue. Before I have a chance to enter the store, Diesel comes barreling out with two gigantic paper bags and lipstick smeared on his cheek.

“Seriously?” I ask with a smirk, shaking my head. “What’d you do? Bang her in the bathroom?”

Shrugging with a shit-eating grin, he hands me one of the bags.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

Grimacing, I shiver at the thought. The bathroom is probably gross as hell. However, I wouldn’t put it past him. Diesel glances down and snatches one of the neon fliers from my hand.

“Interesting.” He studies it. “Amateur night at a strip club.”

I give him a pointed look, and before he can even say a word, I dare him to enter the contest.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “There’s no way in hell.”

“Really? You gonna turn down a dare and finally pay up?” I taunt and burst into laughter when he scowls.

“I’m not dancin’ half naked in front of a bunch of strangers,” he whines. Ironic, considering he banged someone he just met in a restroom.

I shrug. “Alright…” I hold out my palm with a shit-eating smirk. “That’ll be eight hundred bucks then.”

“Piss off.” He rolls his eyes, walking ahead of me.

“Should we resort to the old rules then? Drop your pants and get moonin’.”

“I’ll get arrested,” he throws back. “That’s just stupid.”

“One or the other.” I smirk, knowing I have him by the balls.

Diesel swallows, then narrows his eyes at me. “Fine. Let’s go to this goddamn club, but just know, I’ll get you back when you least expect it. And it will be monu-fuckin’-mental, Bishop. Just wait.”

“Ooooh, fightin’ words. I like it when you’re all riled up. And you know I’m always up for a good challenge,” I admit. Actually, everyone back home knows never to dare a Bishop. The tradition goes back decades.

Once we’re back in our room, we crack open the whiskey and start drinking. I stand on the balcony and continue to pregame as Diesel showers. Eventually, he comes out dressed in his best, and we’re already buzzed when we take an Uber to the strip club. Amateur night is for both men and women, but not surprisingly, the woman’s prize is heftier. But if Diesel pulls it off, he could be five hundred dollars richer tonight, which could buy a lot of beer and lap dances—his words, not mine.

The parking lot is full of cars, and the line is fifty people deep. Our driver drops us off, and I’m grinning like an idiot. It hasn’t left my face since he accepted the dare. I fucking live for making his life hell.

“I fuckin’ hate you.” Diesel groans, leading the way. Eventually, we make it through and meet a big dude guarding the door with a smug look, checking IDs. Diesel gets in free because he’s participating in the activities, but I have to pay thirty bucks. Worth every damn cent to watch him embarrass himself.