Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
He laughs, the sound rich and real, and a rush of warmth moves through me. “Didn’t bother me. I have lots of experience being body-slammed.”
“You do?” My turn to laugh.
He shrugs. “Four brothers.”
“Ah.”
“Being body-slammed by a girl, though …” His eyes dance. “Way different experience.”
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” I pluck at my shirt, holding up the beer stain.
He’s laughing again, and the warmth inside my skin notches up a degree. Mustached Maybe Cowboy is surprisingly easy to talk to.
Logically, I know not all men are moody grumps. But I was with one for so long, I think my nervous system might take some convincing.
A bartender appears, holding out a white towel and a glass of what looks like club soda. “Towel’s clean, but no dice on the Tide pen. Sorry, boss.”
Cowboy takes the towel and water. “Appreciate you checking. Thanks.”
My knees get this weird, tingly feeling when he offers them to me.
I put a hand on the bar to steady myself. “What’s this?”
“Told you we’d get you cleaned up. Sorry about the Tide. I usually have a pen or two on me, but … yeah, if it’s just beer, club soda should do the trick. I’m kind of an expert in getting stains out.”
“Of course you are.” Blinking slowly, I take the towel and club soda. My heart drums inside my chest.
In addition to being obscenely hot, is this guy also helpful? Considerate? Thoughtful? Honestly, I couldn’t care less about my shirt, but this cowboy—
He definitely cares.
“Thanks.” I dip the towel in the water and get to work on my shirt. “That was really kind of you.”
The bartender returns with a pair of Shiner Bocks.
“Took the liberty of ordering you another beer too,” Cowboy explains.
My right knee wobbles precariously. Holy shit, am I in the midst of a legitimate swoon? “Stop.”
“Stop what?” He sets a beer on the counter in front of me.
“Who are you, and what are you planning to do with my lifeless body after your little ruse to charm and abduct me works?”
He grins. “So it is working.”
“Hell yeah it’s working.” I grab my beer and take a long, slightly panicked sip.
Laughing, he holds out a hand. “I’m Sawyer.”
I look down at the huge mitt of his hand. Look up at him and let out a little chuckle of disbelief.
He cocks a brow.
“It’s just … a nice name.” I slide my hand into his, my body igniting at the warm, dry feel of his palm pressed against mine. I give it a solid squeeze and look him in the eye, just like my dad taught me, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flickers when he squeezes back.
One side of his mouth kicks up. “ ‘Nice’?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
I let out a huff. “Fine. It’s a hot name. Like, a hot guy name.”
He keeps his hand wrapped around mine. “Do I fit the bill?”
A smile, big and broad, breaks out on my face. “I’m Ava.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothin’.” He squeezes my hand one last time before dropping it. “It’s just, yeah, a hot girl name. You definitely fit the bill, Ava.”
Oh God oh God why does my name sound so sexy when he says it?
“Are all serial killers so smooth?” Dropping the towel, I give up on my shirt.
His lips twitch as he sips his Shiner. “You from Austin?”
“I’m not. We’re in town for a girls’ weekend.” I point a finger toward my sisters, who are trying, and quite clearly failing, to look like they’re not watching my every move. “You?”
“My brother Cash”—he points to a tall guy in a white cowboy hat—“just got engaged. We’re here to celebrate.”
“Bachelor party. Gotcha.”
“Kinda. One of my brothers couldn’t come, so …” Sawyer lifts a massive shoulder, tucking his free hand into his front pocket. “I mean, Cash wasn’t into the idea, so we pitched the trip as a team-building thing. We all work together.”
“Really? That’s cool. What do y’all do?”
He sips his beer. “Ranchers.”
My pulse skips. “Cowboys?”
“Born and raised, yeah.”
I hung out with plenty of cowboys when I lived on the ranch, and then again when I was on the barrel racing circuit in my late teens and early twenties. They can be wild, sure, but maybe …
I don’t know, maybe wild is what I’m looking for? Maybe it’s what was missing from the hookups I had.
“Very cool.” I tip back my longneck, trying not to gulp the beer. I need to slow down. Now is not the time to get sloppy. Not when a cute, considerate cowboy is looking at me like that.
Like he very much wants to know more. Do more.
“What about you?” His eyes trail down my neck and chest, sending a pulse of heat through my center. “What do you do, Ava?”
“I just got a new job, actually.”
The skin at the edges of his eyes crinkles. “Sounds like that’s a good thing?”