Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Ryder catches me ogling his brother. “You sure that’s the twin you want?”
Duke scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Trust the lady. She’s making the right call.”
“Ain’t my style to step on any toes.” Ryder holds up his hands. “But you change your mind, Wheeler, just know that I’m available.”
He disappears into the bar. Duke waits for me, still smiling.
“Such a gentleman.” I cross my arms.
“My brother’s not. Just so you know.”
“So you’re different, but I’m guessing you’re also identical? As in y’all are identical twins?”
Duke’s barrel of a chest rises on an inhale. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“But fortunately, you’re the better-looking one.”
His lips twitch. “You tell it like it is, Wheeler Rankin. I like that about you.”
“I like that about you too.” I step inside the Rattler and inhale a lungful of stale-beer smell. “But wow, I love this.”
“Just wait ’til the music starts. Whatcha drinking?” Duke nods at the U-shaped bar that dominates the high-ceilinged space.
“I like Shiner. Here, I’ll get the first round—”
“You’re cute.” Duke grins down at me. “When you come to my dive bar in my town, I’m buying. Shiner it is.”
I follow him to the bar, where he tells the bartender to put the pair of longnecks he orders on his tab.
This man couldn’t be more classic small-town cowboy if he tried.
Then again, he did talk about that yacht. And he kept bringing up Bellamy Brooks, which made me think he’s interested to know more about the business.
Maybe Duke has dreams that are bigger than Hartsville. The idea makes my chest feel funny, maybe because I also have dreams that are bigger—different at least—than the dreams my parents have for me.
Ignoring that, I focus on the tug of heat I feel low in my center as I shamelessly check out his ass. It looks cute in those Wranglers.
“Hearts or darts?” He turns around, beers in hand.
I furrow my brow. “Is that cowboy for ‘hello, here’s your beer’?”
“Nah. We usually just hand you the beer.” He passes one of the longnecks to me. “What I’m asking is do you play games with hearts or with darts?”
“Ah.” I take the beer, our fingers brushing, and grin. “Can I say both?”
“You can say whatever you want.” He flashes me a wide, white smile. “I like a challenge.”
“You’re gonna be disappointed, then.” I follow him to the far corner of the room. A pool table is tucked underneath a stained-glass Budweiser light fixture. Beside it, a dartboard that’s seen better days hangs on the wall underneath a pair of antlers mounted on a license plate from Alaska. “I suck at games.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re already playing?”
Damn, he’s good.
The heat of his gaze follows me as I pluck the darts off the board. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Just trying to get to know you.” He tips back his beer, throat bobbing on a swallow. “A friend of Mollie’s is a friend of mine. Haven’t seen my brother this happy in…well. Forever.”
So casual. Like he has real conversations with strangers on the regular and talks about his family with no trace whatsoever of awkwardness or trauma.
I envy him.
“They’re cute together, aren’t they? Mollie and Cash.” Darts in one hand, I tip back my own beer with the other. It’s all I can do not to groan. The Shiner Bock is ice cold, its earthy flavor refreshingly delicious. Didn’t realize I was so thirsty until I take one long sip, then another.
“It’s sickening.” Duke sets down his beer on the nearby whiskey barrel that’s been repurposed as a drinks table. “What’s your game? 501? 301?”
He’s referring to the different games we can play with the darts. Players start with either 501 or 301 points, subtracting the number they hit on the board during every turn. Whoever gets to zero first wins.
I’m smiling again as I flatten my palm, offering him the darts. “This is your bar, so it’s your call.”
He shakes his head and grins. “Nah, sweetheart.” Stepping closer, he curls his hand over mine and rolls the darts back into my palm. “You’re my guest, so you get to make the call. Although I know that call is gonna be 501.”
My pulse skips. My skin ignites at the casual, confident way he touches me. “I’m Mollie’s guest too.”
“I don’t share. 501 is your jam because you play the long game. You’re a steady Eddie chiseling away at those points, making your opponent think you’re not all that good. But then—bit by bit—you crush them, and then you finally go in for the kill.”
I lick my lips, pulse racing, even as that voice in my head sounds a warning. Careful. This guy is good.
Really, really good at reading people. Reading me.
We’re just flirting, though. This is harmless fun. Nothing more.
I deserve to blow off a little steam, don’t I? After years of struggling to get Bellamy Brooks out of the red, Mollie and I are getting so close to hitting it big. Just this week, we heard from Elle about a feature they’re doing on Western wear for the spring. They want to possibly feature our Jocelyn boots, a pair of midcalf, almond-toed beauties available in coral and turquoise full-grain leather.