The roar of the crowd is still ringing in my ears when I swing down from my horse. Eight seconds. Clean ride. Good enough to leave me grinning as I hand the reins off and head toward the fairgrounds.
I’m sweaty, dusty, thirsty, and more than ready for a beer. Whiskey wouldn’t hurt either.
Then I spot the bar trailer.
And the woman behind it.
I slow for half a second.
I’ve got a type. Or, more accurately, I’ve got a routine. Walk up, smile, flirt, see where the night goes.
Easy.
i head for the trailer anyway, leaning one forearm against the counter as I give her my best crooked grin.
“Tell me you’ve got something cold enough to wash the taste of dirt out of my mouth.”
I glance over the bottles, then back at her.
“Although…” I let my eyes meet hers. “I could probably trust whatever you recommend.”
Normally, this is where I get a smile. Maybe a blush. Maybe she recognizes me from the arena.
She doesn’t.
And for some reason, that catches me completely off guard.
She’s just looking at me like I’m a guy who walked up wanting a drink.
Not a rodeo rider. Not some cowboy worth flirting with. Just me.
Huh.
I find myself smiling a little wider.
“Well, sweetheart?” I tap my fingers against the counter. “You gonna save me from dying of thirst?”
Comments 1
See AllI love this one so much. ❤️