“You come to the Razor a lot, honey?” Rodeo asks, attempting more conversation as the other girl wanders off. His dark eyes hold mine over the rim of his frosted mug of draft beer. At least he isn’t ogling my breasts any longer—no, he gave that up when I slipped on my navy blazer and buttoned it up to the collar. A bead of sweat drips down my back. It’s August in the South, over a hundred degrees outside, and if I don’t get out of this club soon, I’m going to pass out.
“No. I’ve never been here. I don’t get out much. I’m a grad student and teach—”
He nods, interrupting me. “It’s close to my apartment is why I picked it.” A pause. “It’s hard meeting girls online.”
At that remark, at the hint that maybe he’s not the jackass he appears to be, I relax a little. Maybe he was just babbling about watching baby alligators die.
I infuse my voice with interest and ask the number one question Mama always asks me about my dates. “Are you employed?”
He fingers his gold belt buckle and chuckles. “Not a desk job like most. I’m the reigning Ride ’Em Till You Die champion for the past three years. I made a million dollars last year in the circuit. You into rodeo guys?”
“I love horses,” I push out, floundering to find a commonality between us. “I grew up outside Nashville, a small town called Daisy—”
“Whips, saddles, spurs, bridles—I’ve got it all at home if that’s your kink,” he interjects with a sly tone as he goes from nice to sleazy in a blink, the insinuation of it making me squirm as I shift around on my stool. A dark chuckle comes from him. “You look uptight, but I bet your waters run deep, honey.”
Uptight. He gets a gold star for that. My ex-fiancé, Preston, would agree.
He continues, tugging me away from the dark path those thoughts want to lead me down. “And I know what you’re thinking—I’m short. Most girls do at first, but just you wait, ’cause what’s in my pants is a God-given gift. Ain’t had one complaint since I started. Been riding fillies for a long time, and they always come back for more of what I got.” His lids lower as he gives his crotch an endearing, loving look, as if his small head is sentient and listening.
There you go.
My first instinct was right. Death sentence. Must escape.
After turning away from him and looking at the mirror across the bar, I watch as red creeps up my face. My hair is chaos, the blonde strands once in a sleek chignon now dangling next to my temple, the finer hairs sticking to my damp forehead. My pink lipstick has faded, and there are smudges of mascara under my eyes from the heat.
I push my black glasses up on my nose and swipe at a bead of sweat on my forehead. Why am I even wearing a stupid blazer in the middle of the hottest summer on record? My fingers toy with the top button, loosening it a little.
Rodeo sees me unbuttoning my jacket, and his eyes light up. He takes a step closer, and now his checkered shirt is brushing against my breasts, and I see his nose hairs. His smell wafts around me: spicy, male, kind of leathery—horsey.
I lean farther away, arching until I bump into the person next to me. Without glancing back, I mumble an apology and straighten myself on the stool.
Rodeo indicates my empty tumbler, his tone low and husky. “You want another drink? That whiskey you sucked down is long gone.”
Using my foot, I press on the lower part of the bar and scoot my stool away from him. I check my phone and put on a frown. “Actually, it’s getting late, and I need to leave—”
“Hey, bartender! My little filly here needs a drink,” he calls out and waves his hat around at the busy server behind the bar.
The petite bartender comes over to us. Her name tag says SELENA, and I’m envious of the confident sway of her hips in skinny jeans, the deep-red lipstick on her lips. Her dark hair is sheared close to her scalp in a pixie cut, her eyes defined with dark eyeliner. We’re like night and day, me in my faded makeup, mud-brown pencil skirt, and low-heeled pumps.
Selena focuses her eyes on me, dismissing Rodeo. “You sure you want another drink?” The dry tone says, Girl, why are you with him?
A long exhalation comes from my chest. All I need to do is get rid of him and just enjoy the burn of a good bourbon.
I give her a quick nod, keeping my eye on Rodeo.
“Same as before? Woodford on the rocks?”
“Please,” I say.
Selena turns around to reach up to the top shelf while Rodeo lets out a whistle under his breath, watching her voluptuous figure.