Page 18

I almost talked myself out of going to the bar with Molly and Cassie at least ten times before I even finished getting ready. And I changed outfits just as many times.

First, I tried to keep it low-key—leggings, a comfy tee, and my sneakers. Casual. Effortless. But one glance in the mirror told me I was playing it too safe. I didn’t look like someone ready for a girls’ night out. I looked like someone ready to binge a crime doc and eat cereal on the couch.

So, I changed into dark jeans with a flowy blouse, something cute but classic. As I rummaged through my closet for shoes, my hand brushed against an unopened cardboard box shoved in the back. I’d forgotten it was back there.

Curious, I pulled it out and peeled back the flaps. Inside, neatly folded, was the black leather miniskirt I’d splurged on a month ago. The tag was still attached. I ran my fingers across the smooth material. It was soft, sleek. Bold .

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror, wearing that black miniskirt, the pink cowboy boots Colt had teased me about (which only made me love them more), and a low-cut black top that definitely flirted with the edge of showing too much.

But tonight wasn’t about modesty. Or Colt. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Tonight was about me.

I curled my hair, swiped on some lip gloss, and blinked at my reflection. Damn. I looked good. Confident. Hot. If I had worn this on my not-a-date with Colt, he definitely would have kissed me.

But he didn’t. So screw him.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. It was Cassie and Molly, right on time and ready for whatever the night held.

“Let’s go, hot stuff!” Cassie called through the door. “I swear, if you come out in leggings after you made us wait, we’re turning around.”

I laughed as I opened the door, grabbing my purse and bedazzled jean jacket on the way out. Cassie and Molly both let out exaggerated gasps.

“Dang, girl,” Molly said, looking me up and down. “Look at you.”

“You’re lucky I wore heels,” Cassie said, “because you’re not outshining me without a fight.”

“Let’s go cause some trouble,” I said, locking the door behind me. As I stepped into the warm night, my pink boots clicked against the wooden planks of the front porch with every confident step.

I was ready for anything.

The Twisted Spur was everything you’d imagine in a smalltown dive bar—only better. It was one of those neon-lit spots where the music thrummed in your chest, and the drinks were always a little too strong.

The place had a slightly retro vibe—half honky-tonk, half dive bar—with weathered wood walls, string lights zigzagging across the ceiling, and a jukebox in the corner that still took quarters.

A faded mural of cowgirls on horseback stretched across the back wall behind the bar, and the scent of lime, sweat, and spilled whiskey clung to the air like perfume.

Around these parts, The Twisted Spur was famous for two things: dangerously strong tequila and a mechanical bull that had bruised more egos and tailbones than most could count. And that’s what we came here for—the drinks, the dancing, and the bull.

Cassie led the charge to the dance floor while Molly flagged down shots from the bartender like she was on a mission. We raised our shots, toasted to the night, tossed back our tequila, and hit the floor, dancing like no one was watching.

“Alright,” Cassie said after our second round, eyes gleaming. “It’s bull time.”

Molly groaned playfully. “I knew that tequila was a setup.”

Speaking of tequila, the effects of the shots were already taking over my body. My arms and legs were becoming wobbly, and my attitude about riding the bull had changed from hesitation to determination.

Colt would probably think I was being reckless. But Colt wasn’t here.

Cassie and Molly hollered and clapped as I marched up to the roped-off area, a woman on a mission. The guy running the bull gave me an amused smirk.

I climbed on with surprising ease, locking my legs around the padded saddle.

The bull jerked once, then twice, and off it went, bucking, twisting, and spinning.

I rode it like a pro with one hand high and the other gripping the strap, my hair whipping through the air as I leaned into every buck and twist.

The crowded bar went wild, almost startling me. Even the bartender paused for a moment to whistle.

I was on top of the world.

When I finally fell off—gracefully, I might add—I stood and curtsied like I’d just finished a Broadway performance.

“And that, ladies, is how you ride a bull.”

Cassie whooped. “Ellie-freakin’-Brooks, you made that bull your bitch!”

Molly handed me the tequila shot she’d been saving. “To being a badass.”

We clinked glasses, laughter spilling over as easily as the tequila. It was stupid. And perfect. And exactly what I needed.

Making our way back to the front, Cassie, Molly, and I sat at the bar, the bartender asking what we wanted next.

“I’ll take a vodka cranberry,” I said, craving something tart.

“I’ll have a Michelob Ultra,” Cassie said.

“Make that two vodka cranberries,” Molly added after a beat.

As the bartender placed our drinks in front of us, a guy in a red flannel shirt slid onto the barstool next to mine .

“Hello, darlin’,” he slurred, leaning in a little too close.

“Hi,” I replied, keeping it polite but distant.

“What brings you out tonight?” he asked, swaying slightly, his breath warm and too close.

“Girls’ night. And actually, I should get back to it,” I said, turning to leave.

Before I could slide off the barstool, his hand clamped around my wrist.

My eyes widened. Fear bloomed in my chest—not just because a drunk stranger was grabbing me, but because the way his hand wrapped around my wrist yanked me straight back to the night Jason slammed my head into the wall.

I froze for a moment, then I yanked my arm away. The man didn’t have much strength in his drunken state, but something told me that if he were sober, he might not have let go so easily. That thought made my stomach churn.

Cassie and Molly were beside me in an instant, placing themselves between me and the drunk guy.

“Touch her again and I’ll kick your ass,” Cassie snapped, her voice like a whip.

He blinked at her, clearly stunned. I doubted he was used to women standing up to him.

“You heard me, douchebag. Get lost,” Cassie said, not backing down.

“Easy there, Red. Your bitch friend’s not worth it,” he muttered, turning his back on us. “She’s probably a lousy lay anyway.”

He turned to face the row of TVs above the bar, dismissing us like an afterthought .

Cassie stepped closer to him, not ready to let go of the fight, but before she could say anything else, the guy was violently knocked off his barstool.

Someone with broad shoulders and a cowboy hat pinned him against the bar top, wrapping a hand around the man’s neck.

“Speak about her like that again, and I’ll break your fingers one by one—and smile while I do it. My best friend is the town sheriff. I could murder you and get away with it.”

I recognized the voice instantly—Colt.

Jace stepped in next, grabbing the guy’s wrist and twisting it while Colt still held him by the throat.

“And don’t call her Red ever again. Got it?”

“Got it,” the man choked out, his face turning purple.

Jace and Colt let go at the same time. The guy stumbled backward, clutching his neck and gasping for air before disappearing into the crowd.

The rest of us just stood there, stunned.

“Where the hell did you guys come from?” Molly asked, breaking the silence.

“Boys’ night was turning into a dud, so we decided to come here,” Jace said. “What a coincidence seeing you guys.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Cassie shot back, calling his bluff.

Colt turned to me, gently taking my hand and turning it over, inspecting both sides of my wrist.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” I said, rubbing my wrist, trying to erase the feeling of what had just happened .

After Colt finished looking me over, a slow George Strait song started playing over the speakers.

He looked around the bar, then back at me. “Dance with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

He nodded his head up and down laughing. “Yes, here, Ellie.”

I glanced over at Cassie and Molly who were both giving me a what the hell are you waiting for look.

“Uh, sure,” I said, extending my hand.

Colt took my hand and guided me onto the dance floor. As the song played, he pulled me in close. After a few seconds, I laid my head against his chest. His heart was beating faster than normal. Probably because of the bar fight he almost got into over me.

I was still mad at him about not kissing me the other night, but the last few minutes had brought a lot of my anxiety to the surface, and Colt being around was the only way I could calm my nerves—even if I was still pissed off at him.

“You didn’t need to defend my honor back there,” I said, lifting my head to meet his eyes.

“I don’t have to. But I want to, El. There’s a big difference.”

“What made you want to come to the bar tonight?”

“The short answer? Jace dragged me here. The long one?” Colt paused, releasing a long breath.

“I watched you guys leave while I was finishing up some work down at the stables, and it annoyed the hell out of me, the thought of drunk guys staring at you all night. So, when Jace came to the main house for a guys’ night, he got tired of all my sulking and forced me to come down here and check on you. Said it’d make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“I feel better now that you’re dancing with me and not some stranger.”

I looked up at him, unsure how to respond.

What was he trying to say?

Was he admitting he was jealous? Of other guys looking at me? Dancing with me?

“I didn’t dance with any strangers tonight, you know. It’s just been Cassie, Molly, and me.” I paused, shaking my head. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway. You made that clear the other night.”