Page 41 of Braving the Storm

My eyes meet the fierce blue gaze directly across from me. “No, I’m fine with water, thanks.”

He shakes his head and slides the menu toward her. I do the same.

“No problem.” She scoops up both menus, cradling them against her chest, starts to walk away, then turns back. “Oh, so, it’s silly, but you never texted me back, and I wasn’t sure if I left my lipgloss in your truck… I mean, it might have slipped out of my pocket that night.”

Fuck my entire life. Try as I might, I can’t sit here and listen to this girl start reminiscing about her activities involving my uncle that may or may not have led to her misplacing a tube of lip gloss.

“I’m just gonna use the bathroom,” I mutter. Sliding out of the booth without looking at either of them.

Behind me, I can hear Luce continue to chatter away, not likeshe’s got other customers or anything better to do than hit on the man who possibly, maybe, most definitely fucked her in his truck.

When I find the bathroom, I’m glad to shut the door and let the air rush out of my lungs. God, I’m such a jumbled-up mess of emotions. There is absolutely no reason for him not to be with someone. I mean, for god’s sake, that girl could have been who he rushed off to see the other night for all I know.

Ugh. Yuck. It was her, wasn’t it?

Rubbing my temples, I take some deep inhales, then flip on the faucet to run some cold water over my wrists. My body feels hot and prickly, and I’m suddenly imagining exactly how well Luce and her shiny chestnut hair, which looks like she came to work straight from the salon, attends to my uncle when she’s not waitressing.

I have no right to feel any sort of way about them. None at all.

Drying my hands and smoothing down the front of my jeans, I take a final glance in the mirror. All I need to do is go sit through a meal. I’ve sat through plenty of awful dinners and galas and stupid high society events with miserable, vain people in my life.

I can handle an irritating waitress, even one who intends on shoving her tongue down my uncle’s throat before I’ve managed a bite of my meal.

As I emerge from the bathroom, and make my way back down the hallway to the main bar, I’ve changed my mind. A drink sounds like a fucking outstanding idea, after all.

Having no idea what to order without sounding like a totalcity girl, as everyone up at Devil’s Peak Ranch has grown fond of calling me, now including both Colt and Layla, I join the line of bodies who are standing and leaning around the bar and order myself a beer. Seems like the easiest option.

I give my thanks to the sweet-looking older lady who serves me. Based on the twinkle in her eye, there’s no doubt she could wrangle any rowdy asshole in here with ease. Grabbing my drink, I turn and immediately bump into a broad chest.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” It’s damn lucky I didn’t spill my entire drink over this guy’s shirt.

“Nothing to apologize for, ma’am. It’s me being clumsy over here and getting in your way.” He flashes me a smile that is utterly charming. Of course, this is cowboy territory, after all.

Looks like I might not have to brave the terrifying jungle of dating apps since the Universe has literally dropped a dream candidate right in my path.

This guy is probably in his late thirties from the look of him, with a little rugged stubble going on and tousled dark hair. Total lady killer with a smile like that, and thetall, dark, and temptinglook is absolutely working for him.

This.

This is exactly what I need.

I swiftly boot aside my pouting bitch of a heart, who loudly protests that this isn’t the cowboy Iwant.Clearly, my own sense of judgment has been entirely misplaced, and I cannot have what I want, so please, god, let this man smiling down at me be single and have a nice-looking dick he knows how to put to use.

“No ma’am’s here, just Briar.”

“Pleasure to meet you, just Briar.” He extends a hand to wrap around mine, and he’s got that calloused, warm sort of touch that should be making my heart flutter. But instead, I’m more fixated than I should be on the fact there was no jolt of a spark like those times when I first brushed fingertips with… no, pump the brakes, stop it right now, I am not thinking about him or late nights in that cabin alone or waking up with his torso, and other large appendages pressed the length of my spine.

Do not for one goddamn second think about Stôrmand Lane’s cock.

Do. Not.

I force a smile and bat my eyelashes at the charming cowboy. Crap, did he say his name, and I totally missed it?

“I’m Westin. Or, just Wes will do just fine.”

He squeezes my palm, and there’s enough of a little hit ofnervous excitement at the closeness and charm of him. Ok. Mr. Cowboy is certainly promising,that right there, I can work with.

“Pardon me for being forward, but I gotta ask one question, and that’s gonna decide what happens next.”