by KJ Bell
I approach the bar on wobbly legs. When I’m close, a few of the guys spin on their stools, facing me. JT Garrett, Cooper McGraw, Battle, and two guys I don’t recognize, but I’m sure they’re riders.
“Well, hello, darlin’,” Cooper drawls. His dusty blond bangs hang in his eyes. He smiles, his dimples full of warm invitation.
Between my nerves and the muggy air in the crowded bar, I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. As I turn my head to look at Battle, the air immediately chills, covering my arms in goose bumps. There’s a solid wall of ice between us. He appears completely uninterested in my presence, an absolute one-eighty from the arena. Up close, he’s even more gorgeous and my knees nearly give out. His beautiful eyes are welcoming, but his demeanor screams, Back off!
I’m on a mission to stick it to Wyatt, and my pushy best friends. I ignore Battle’s opposing body language and take a step closer to him.
“Are you the Battle McCoy?” As the words leave my mouth, I hear how ridiculous they sound. My inexperience has caught up with me.
“The one and only,” JT drawls.
Battle not answering, or bothering to look at me, makes me feel ugly and unwanted. If the rumors are true, Battle’s with a different girl every night. His disinterest challenges me. The air hums between us as I take another step closer to him, or at least it does for me.
“I’m Faye.” I smile nervously, sticking my hand out.
He doesn’t shake my hand and I drop it, feeling thoroughly shunned. With a slight lift of his chin, he finally looks at me. Not in the eyes, but at my chest. I feel uncomfortable. My C-cups usually draw compliments, but now they’re inadequate. His blue eyes lack any emotion as he stares right through me. He remains quiet, sending my nerves in a tailspin.
I shamelessly bend forward slightly, hoping to use my cleavage to spark a trace of interest in Battle. Nothing. Clearly I suck at seducing men, but knowing how much Marty will gloat if I lose the bet, I try a braver approach. “I have a bottle and a car out front. You wanna take a drive?”
My voice sounds all wrong, more beggar than temptress. If he makes me lose a hundred bucks, I’m going to be irate. I only have to get him to leave the bar with me. Marty didn’t say I had to leave the parking lot. I stand there on display like the village idiot, waiting for a response.
Battle chews on a toothpick without answering or meeting my gaze. I watch the tiny wooden stick move from tooth to tooth between his full lips. My mind drifts to thoughts of what our lips would feel like pressed together.
I shake my head, turning away from the bar. As I breathe in, preparing to take the slow walk of shame back to our table, and pay up with Marty, I hear JT.
“Hey, beautiful.” JT Garrett calling me beautiful brightens my dismal spirit. His praise gives me a much needed confidence boost. “Why don’t you bring your girlfriends over for a drink?”
Battle coughs as he glares heatedly at JT. His objection sends my bleak moment of confidence back to the gloomy abyss. I feel like that girl in high school from most movies, the one who tries to talk to the popular boy, only to have him laugh in her face.
Mr. One-man Army clearly doesn’t want to welcome me and my friends to his group of buddies. Only I’m not about to turn down an offer to hang out with JT and Cooper. Marty and Ginger would never speak to me again.
“Um…okay.”
I lift my head, meeting Battle eye to eye as he withdraws the toothpick from his mouth. My skin catches fire as he works his jaw deliberately back and forth, sawing his bottom lip with his teeth. His stoic gaze renders me speechless. My hope shrivels to nothing as I absorb how incredibly arrogant this man is. He grimaces before spinning back to the bar on his stool.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to tell him what an ass he is. JT wanting us around makes me smile, and I skip back to the table.
“Oh, my God! What did he say?” Ginger asks.
“Not a single word, but JT wants us to come over for a drink.”
“You owe me a hundred bucks,” Marty sings in my ear as we make our way to the bar. I nudge her, telling her the night is young. I might have played things cool with her, but I have as much of a chance of getting Battle to leave with me as I do getting Wyatt to propose.
JT says hello, handing each of us a pint of beer. I don’t drink beer, but I down a few swallows for courage. It’s bitter, and I make a disgusted face. I think Battle smiles, but I refuse to turn my head as my confidence takes refuge from any further blows.
“I’m JT. This fella here, is Cooper. Battle you obviously know, and these other two clowns are Scooter and Austin.”
Other than Battle, the guys are typical rough ridin’ cowboys, in plaid shirts, tight Wrangler jeans, Stetson hats, and cowboy boots.
Marty, Ginger, and I say hello. Ginger greets JT more eagerly than the rest of the guys. As she steps close to him, her smile stretches the width of her face, and she sends me and Marty an, ‘I call dibs’ look.
“So, did y’all see us ride tonight?” JT asks, tipping his tan suede hat.
“Or in JT’s case, fall,” Cooper snorts.
“I made it longer than Scoot,” JT yells. “He was off faster than a dress on prom night. Besides, that fucker's balls were cinched too tight. Damn bull tried to kill me.”
“Battle didn’t have any problem stayin’ on him,” Cooper razzes.
“Because McCoy’s crazier than a wild bull with his nuts cinched too tight.”
“I didn’t think they still did that,” I say, and Marty snickers. I obviously said something stupid.
“Did what?” JT asks.
“Cinch their balls,” I answer without thinking. Everyone laughs except for Battle, who shakes his head in annoyance. “What?”
Austin spits his beer, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “They don’t, but we got one of you girls to say balls. Old rodeo joke.”
Oh, great. The movie girl feeling returns. This is the scene where the popular guy and his friends punk the heroine for their own entertainment. I guess it’s not quite as dramatic as the movies. As least I’m not covered in mystery meat and cream-corn from the school cafeteria.
“Screw that,” JT says. “They do whatever it takes to get the bulls buckin’ and the gatemen enjoy fuckin’ with me.”
“Hey, language,” Cooper says. “We were askin’ the ladies if they saw us ride.”
“They saw,” Battle says in a clipped response. I snap my head around to him, but he still won’t look at me.
JT asks, “So, whady’all think?”
“We had a great time,” Marty answers.
After a few minutes, Ginger slides in between JT’s thighs with her butt to his crotch, Marty wedges into the group, attaching herself to Cooper’s side as she giggles with a pitch higher than most pre-teen girls. I stand alone in the aisle, hugging my beer to my chest like a security blanket.
We’ve reached that scene of the movie where the girl loses her best friend, or in my case, best friends. I don’t fit in here. Worse, I detest how awkward I feel. I’m upset with myself. I’ve always been ‘Wyatt’s girlfriend’ and without him, I have no idea who I am. Or where I fit in.
Battle’s eyes feel like they’re boring a hole into the side of my face. He’s finally taking an interest in me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. He’s probably trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. By all appearances, I’m the awkward outcast of the group, the ugly duckling; only there’s little hope of me turning into a swan by the end of the night. I chug the remaining pint of beer, hoping if I get drunk enough, this night won’t totally destroy my self-esteem.
Battle makes a noise. When I turn to look at him, he shakes his head in a disapproving manner. I swear he’s silently warning me about drinking. Well, I have two words for Battle McCoy. “Fuck you!” Of course, I don’t actually say the words, because I’m a coward.
Instead of playing head games with Battle, I squeeze my body in between Scooter and Austin. If I’m stuck in thi
s dump for the night, I might as well have a little fun. They’re eager to make a sandwich out of me, apparently used to getting whatever scraps remain. Battle makes another sound; this one a strangled growl. I ignore him.
“Whatcha drinkin’, darlin’?” Scooter drawls, running his fingers through his dark brown hair.
“Shots!” I shoot Battle a look over Scooter’s shoulder. Our gazes clash. I guess I’m playing his game after all. Without pulling my eyes away, I say, “Jack D, straight up!”
“Hell ya!” Austin slams his palm into the deep wood bar. His light brown eyes twinkle with mischief as he winks at me. “Keeper,” he shouts, but a female customer holds the bartender’s attention at the other end of the bar. “Oh, nurse,” he sings and gestures with his hand this time. “Frank!”
The weathered barkeep looks up, grumbling, “What do ya want?”
“Three shot glasses and a bottle of Jack,” Austin answers.
Frank rolls his eyes. He makes his way slowly to the three of us, limping from a bad hip. I know this, because he complains about how much it bothers him as he approaches us. His eyes stay glued on mine as he sets the glasses and bottle of Jack on the bar loudly.
“Little lady, do you realize you’re askin’ for trouble?”
Now I’m annoyed. If a guy was askin’, he wouldn’t be sending him a warning. “Maybe you should ask these two jokers that question,” I say, jerking a thumb at Scooter and Austin.
Frank’s handlebar mustache lifts before he laughs a hardy belly laugh. “I like this one, fellas.” I smile as he pours our shots, adding an extra glass for himself. He lifts the shot in the air and says, “Here’s to the little lady. You boys have your hands full.” He drains the glass before moseying down the bar to the next group of patrons.
I clink glasses with Austin and Scooter before draining the shot like a pro. Jack Daniels tastes infinitely better than beer as it slides down my throat. I cast a glance over Scooter’s shoulder to Battle who speaks quietly, but with visible annoyance. Whatever he says has no effect on Scooter, who waves his hand over his shoulder without turning around.
My skin burns as the alcohol coating my blood begins to take effect. I talk a big game, but I’m a complete lightweight. Maybe if I’d bothered to do anything but study during college, I could handle more than a shot or two of booze.
As Austin pours another round of shots, my brain protests. Getting drunk with these guys goes against my better judgment. Conflict ensues in my thoughts as I don’t know how else to make this night easier. Screw it. I down the shot of Jack like one of the guys.
When Austin lifts the bottle from the bar, I seek escape, knowing another shot may obliterate all of my inhibitions. My eyes dart around, looking for Ginger or Marty. I find them on the dance floor. Perfect.
“Let’s dance, boys.”
“Oh, no,” Scooter shouts. “I don’t dance to this crap.”
I hadn’t been paying any mind to the music. “You don’t like country?” I ask.
“This ain’t county,” Scooter says, his lip curling. “This is pop-country crap. Quick cash for the suits in Nashville, but it ain’t country.”
I’m not knowledgeable enough to debate the history of country music. I opt instead for another dancing partner and turn to Austin. “How about you? You wanna dance?”
He smiles, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t dance—period, but I’ll watch.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, wiggling out from between the two hefty men.
Battle stands, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He leans with his back to the bar, staring at me. The alcohol in my system shoots my confidence to the surface. I step up close enough to him to feel his breath on my skin.
“You wanna dance, cowboy?”
Although I expect him to ignore me, his doing so causes my skin to burn. I didn’t get the slightest reaction from him. Really? What the hell is his problem? Am I so repulsive that the Battle McCoy can’t be seen with me?
I roll my eyes, which was a mistake as the room spins slightly. More than a chocolate bar for dinner would have been a helpful defense against alcohol. I manage to stay upright, surprisingly walking a straight line to the dance floor. At least, I think I walk a straight line.
Marty and Ginger squeal when I approach them. A hard beat thumps from the speakers, pounding in rhythm with my heart. The crowd bounces in unison. Once the chorus kicks in, I feel a male crotch at my backside. I turn my head slightly to notice it’s Austin. His large hands swallow the sides of my waist as he controls the rocking of our joined bodies back and forth.
I lean back against his chest, looking upward and shout over the music. “I thought you don’t dance—period?”
“This ain’t dancin’ darlin’,” he replies in my ear, his lips lingering, and his hot breath caressing my skin. He smells like sweat and beer. He smells like man, and I’m positive I’m not woman enough for him.
As naive as I know I’m about to sound, I ask anyway, “What is it?”
His soft chuckle enters my ear before he answers in a provocative whisper. “This is dry fuckin’ and much more enjoyable than dancin’. Don’t you agree?”
I swallow hard, shaking my head. As shocked as I am by his words, my body keeps moving. His hand reaches up in front of me, clutching my throat and holding me hostage against his solid frame. His hips push forward, and I gasp. He’s hard—ready to go right here and now.
I’m way out of my protected little world with these guys. They’re not the boys I grew up with. These are grown men, with extremely loose lifestyles. They might as well be rock stars, and they expect more than I’m prepared to give.
My heart races until I swear it’s going to shoot straight through my chest. Austin seems like a nice guy, but I’m not interested in a one-night stand with him. His hand glides down my throat, until his long, rough fingers dip into my blouse.
In the next second, I stumble as someone shoves Austin away from me. I hear the sexy, rugged voice of Battle McCoy. He tells Austin to beat it—two little words, but hot. Maybe it’s his tone, or the warning to Austin that makes me feel excited, but I’m overly turned on by the display of testosterone.
Battle takes Austin’s spot behind me, splaying a hand across my stomach. A shiver rolls through me, and it’s hard to breathe.
“What the fuck are you doin’?” he growls in my ear.
“Dancin’,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even, but failing.
“Right. The buckle-bunny groupie thing may be your friends, but you’re too sweet and innocent for Dakota’s.”
“Maybe,” I shrug against his chest.
“No … Absolutely. Go on home now and apologize to him.”
“Who?”
His hands squeeze my waist, preventing me from spinning around.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, his lips grazing my earlobe. “Don’t be coy. Go on home and tell your boyfriend, or whoever he is, you’re sorry.”
I want to shout how I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. How it’s Wyatt who should be sorry. Only my will to argue remains under siege with his warmth surrounding me. “Why should I?”
He laughs softly. I hold my breath when his warm hands push between my bare thighs under my denim skirt. “Because if you don’t, I’m gonna take you up on your offer to go for a drive. We’re gonna fuck … hard, and you’ll hate yourself in the mornin’.”
It takes me a second to absorb his words. When I do, my thoughts become more jumbled. The burning inferno between my legs traps my focus, increasing my desire for him to push his hands higher—deeper.
I’ve never felt more wanted. I give serious consideration to letting him fuck me hard. At this moment, I don’t care how much I’ll hate myself tomorrow if it means he relieves the ache throbbing between my legs and makes me forget the one Wyatt caused in my heart.
My head falls back against his chest. “Oh,” I say breathless. “The offer was only a silly dare.”
He whips me around, anger flashing in h
is unbearable blue eyes. “You offered to leave here with me and a bottle of booze on a dare? Tell me you aren’t that reckless?”
Well, hell, I hadn’t considered much past asking him. I shake my head trying to align my thoughts back into coherency. I feel like a kid that’s been reprimanded for sneaking out of the house. “Actually, my talkin’ to you was a dare. Gettin’ you to leave with me was a bet, and thanks to you, I lost a hundred bucks.”
His grip on my wrist hurts as he drags me to the exit door. Along the way, he snatches my bag from the bar. Once outside, he stops abruptly, and I crash into his side.
“Where’s your car?” he asks, his harsh tone startling me.
Meekly, I point in the direction of my yellow baby and hang my head. The warmth of his body reminds me I’m still pressed into his side. I smile.
Marty owes me a hundred bucks.
“That’s your car?” he asks with a hint of sarcasm or maybe disbelief.
“Yes.”
A smile sweeps over his lips, a devilish and curious one I’ve yet to see on his face, so untainted and youthful I can’t help but smile back.
“What year is it?”
“A sixty-five.”
“Boyfriend’s?” he asks, frowning.
The mention of the word boyfriend irritates me. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.” The faintest smile touches his full and kissable pink lips. “It’s all mine. I re-built it with my daddy. It took us five years.”
He cocks his head as his smile brightens. “You work on cars?”
“Not if I can help it,” I admit, and laugh. “I hated every minute of labor I put into this car, but I loved the time I spent with my daddy. Plus, I got a kick-ass classic Mustang out of the deal.” I dangle my keys in front of his face. “Do you wanna drive it?”
He takes the keys immediately. “I’m definitely not lettin’ your drunk-ass drive.”
With a laugh, I follow him to my car, stumbling enough that I’m grateful he’s driving. I get in the passenger seat, my head spinning slightly. Battle relaxes in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel.