Catching the Cowboy (Circle B Ranch 2)

Diesel looks at them before glancing back at me. “Three beers to start. We’ll save the shots for right before I kick their asses in pool.”

“Pretty cocky for someone who almost broke their neck earlier,” Grayson teases.

“Cocky is his middle name,” I interject before I grab their drinks and set them down in front of them.

“Got that right,” Wyatt adds.

“So how were you a dumbass today?” I ask, holding back my worries.

“They’re being dramatic,” he states calmly before bringing the beer to his mouth. The mouth I shouldn’t be fantasizing about.

“This motherfucker…” Grayson starts, shaking his head. “He’s on a tractor, and instead of parking it where it belongs, he wedges the damn thing between two others with no space to actually get down. So he decides to jump to the one next to him and nearly misses. Then he does it again and falls on his damn head.”

“It was my shoulder,” Diesel corrects. “And I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for your concern.” He narrows his eyes at them, and I snort at their interactions, shaking my head at the way they give him shit. It’s too easy, though. Diesel’s a big kid in a grown man’s body.

A really sexy body.

“You poor thing,” I sing-song, resting a hand on my chest. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts and prayers.”

He cocks a brow. “I like you thinkin’ about me.”

My eyes slide to George, who’s shooting a half grin. “Told you,” I tell him.

George laughs, and Diesel furrows his brow, clearly not amused he’s not in on the inside joke.

“Told him what?” he asks. “That I’m charming? Good-looking? Your future baby daddy?”

I nearly choke as a blush creeps up my neck and cheeks.

“That men are annoying. You just proved my point.”

“You wound me, Row.” Diesel sticks out his lower lip, pouting.

“Sorry to burst your enormous ego, but men like you are the worst ones out there,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Gentlemanly? Kind? Willing to punch an ex-boyfriend for their best friend’s little sister?” he challenges, raising his eyebrows and clenching his jaw. The scruff on his face is a little thicker than usual, and a fantasy of his facial hair brushing against my inner thighs emerges into my head. I immediately blink the vision away.

“He’s gotcha there,” Grayson chimes in.

I roll my eyes, no longer wanting to give this conversation any more attention. Luckily, more customers enter and order drinks.

Ethan and I take turns with the customers, mixing cocktails while making sure the place stays clean. Kenzie shows up for her shift and replaces Ethan, and before long, it’s nearly closing time. Diesel, Grayson, and Wyatt played pool and darts, taking shots after each game. I watched them silently, forcing my eyes away before Diesel could catch me staring, and have started wondering what the hell’s wrong with me. Diesel’s been like an annoying brother to me most of my life, and now whatever is sparking between us is freaking me the fuck out. I know I’m not imagining it.

“Diesel, we’re heading out,” Grayson says.

“You better not be driving,” I tell him sternly.

“They’re not,” Diesel reassures me. “We’re staying at Wyatt’s apartment tonight. It’s just down the block. We walked.”

“Ah, okay. Good,” I say as I turn toward the register to grab their tab so they can cash out.

“I’ll meet you guys there in a bit,” Diesel tells them after they pay.

Grayson and Wyatt stumble out, leaving Diesel and me alone with a couple of regulars on the opposite end of the bar. Kenzie is busy wiping down tables and sweeping, not paying any attention to anything else.

“Here,” he says, grabbing my attention with his signed receipt.

I grab it from him and go to input it into the system when I read the tip amount he wrote.

“Diesel, I think you made a mistake and added too many zeros,” I say, chuckling and glancing over my shoulder at him. He looks sober as hell, which is crazy, considering the amount he drank tonight. His lips are in a firm line, and his eyes pierce through me.

“No, that’s right.”

My face falls, and I think I’m in shock. “You don’t have to tip me that much.”

“I know, but I wanted to, so let me.”

“No.”

“Yes. I’m the customer, and I’m always right,” he fires back.

I snort, shaking my head. “I can’t allow you to do that.”

“And why not?” he challenges.

I slump my shoulders in embarrassment. “Because I need to earn the money to pay Nick back without it being given to me. You did enough, and I already feel guilty you got involved.”

“It’s not a handout. That tip was hard-earned.”

“You’re full of shit, and you know it.”

“Just take it, Row. It’s not like I have a wife and six kids to support. I can afford it.”

“I wasn’t saying you couldn’t,” I quickly defend. “I just don’t want your pity.”