That Night (Coming Home To The Grove 4)

After a few drinks, I’m yelling at the umpire and his bad call—there’s no way that was a strike. “C’mon, ump, open your eyes.”

The bartender laughs. “Mavericks fan?”

“I am,” I tell him proudly. Even if my best friend’s husband wasn’t on the team, I’d still be a Mavericks fan.

When I look down the length of the bar again, hoping to see the sexy cowboy, he’s not there. He must have left.

Well, damn.DerrickI had to go to the bathroom, which was probably a good thing because if I’d continued staring at that sexy brunette much longer, she’d probably have thought I was a creepy stalker or something.

Ever since she arrived, I’ve wanted to go and approach her, but each time I was about to do just that I’d talk myself out of it. It isn’t that I was scared or let myself get intimidated, even though the woman is gorgeous. It’s that I know I’m not the kind of guy that’s built for more than a few nights of fun.

The woman I’ve been eyeballing most of the night looks like a woman who knows her mind, is well put together, neat, and precise, like she doesn’t do flings.

It’s just too bad I don’t do serious.

When I walk back toward the bar, I stand in the doorway and watch her. She’s caught up in the baseball game. And it’s like she’s actually watching it and rooting for a team instead of just trying to pass the time because it’s what’s on television.

When she pumps her arms in the air and waves them back and forth excitedly, I figure her team must have won. I break my gaze from her and glance at the TV quickly. The Mavericks won. She’s a Mavericks fan. Obviously, she’s smart about baseball too. Just looking at her, she seems like the total package.

A well put together, not looking for a one-night stand package. I shake my head, wishing I could be that guy. The one that wants forever and believes it could last. But I’m not.

With a shake of my head, I move back toward the bar to take my seat. I could go home, I’m sober to drive, but I’ll admit, I want to make sure the pretty woman makes it to her car – alone. Not that I have any claim on her, but something doesn’t sit right with me thinking that she might go home with someone else.

One look at the bar and I see that her options are the bartender, a group of frat boys that have had too much to drink, or the old cowboy in the corner, and honestly, I don’t think any of them are man enough for her. She seems like a woman that likes to be in control. She won’t want someone that takes orders; she’d want someone to push back a little. Someone like me. Too bad I’m not in the running.3OliviaWell, it looks like I missed my chance with the hot cowboy for the night. He’s still not in his seat.

I’ve finished my drink and want to settle up my tab, but the bartender is at the other end of the bar. I walk around to the far end and settle up my bill. My change purse spills, and I lose my balance as I follow a rolling quarter down the bar top. I clap my hand down on it. “Gotcha!” I say just before I stand back up and go to sit on one of the stools but land on a lap instead of a barstool.

“You sure do,” says the sexy deep voice belonging to the lap I just landed in.

I am mortified and so ready for it to be some scary biker or creeper, but when I look over my shoulder and find the sexy, handsome face of the cowboy from earlier, I find myself smiling the same way he is at me.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m not usually so clumsy, really.” I like the way his big hands cup each side of my waist, steadying me on my feet.

“My lucky day, then,” he says. He’s still close enough that I can feel his body heat. I can feel the warmth of his breath caress the back of my neck, and it’s making my body heat up like a brushfire.

I take my time gathering up the few loose coins and adding them back to my change purse. “How do you figure you’re lucky? You like women falling into your lap? Sounds lazy for a big tough guy like you.”

He’s grinning like a predator when I turn to look at him again, and it makes my heart beat faster with excited anticipation.

“Lucky because now you owe me a favor,” he says.

“Do I?” I laugh. “I think it depends on the favor.”

He stands up, and he’s tall, and up close I can see that he’s even more muscular than I thought.