Page 3 of Rodeo Rivals (Hope Runs Deep #11)

McKayla

T his guy was a hack. McKayla had to bite her lip to keep from laughing right in his face.

He knew nothing about playing pool. Seriously.

The easiest fifty bucks she’d ever earned.

As she sipped her Kentucky Mule, which was basically a Moscow Mule, but instead of vodka she had bourbon, she considered goading her opponent into upping the bet.

Could his ego handle being beaten by a girl?

Snickering to herself when he missed his shot, she placed her glass down on the small ledge meant for such things. “Aw. You were so close,” she said with an exaggerated pout.

Her opponent stared at the stained green felt table and ruffled his own hair. “This table has got to be crooked or something. I never play this badly.”

Of course not. It had to be the table and not his lack of skill. He’d already blamed and switched his stick three times. Why couldn’t it be something else?

Nodding, McKayla moved around him as she eyed her next shot. “It’s possible,” she agreed as she bent over the table.

The curved cue slid over her thumb like butter as she tapped the scuffed white ball, sending it between two striped ones. Standing back, she did her best not to appear too smug as the eleven dropped into a corner pocket and the fifteen found its way to a side pocket.

All that remained was the eight ball. She’d set herself up nice and pretty as she scooted around again, putting distance between herself and the guy she played against. She never knew how men would react to being hustled by a woman.

It was a dangerous game for sure. Especially in dark, seedy bars like this one. She needed to be careful.

Keeping him in the corner of her eye, she leaned over and made quick work of winning the game. With the satisfying clack of her victory, she righted herself and reached for her drink. “I believe that’s game.”

With furrowed brows, the man stared at the table as though somehow the balls would magically leap out of the pockets and spread themselves back on the felt.

McKayla studied him. Which way would he go? Was he a good ol’ boy who would flip out because his masculinity was threatened or was he mature?

His nostrils flared.

That wasn’t a good sign. She’d seen far too many bulls do that before they bucked someone off them immediately.

Doing her best to conceal her unease, she used the narrow plastic straw to stir her drink.

He nodded and lifted his gaze to meet hers. Moving around the table, he reached behind him as he thrust his hand in her direction. “Good game.”

Letting out a relieved breath, she put her drink down and took him up on his good sportsmanship. “Thank you for being worthy competition.”

After a brief shake, his wallet appeared in his free hand. Flipping through it, he pulled out some bills and offered them to her. “You a pro or something?”

Chuckling, she accepted the money. “No.” She grinned as she folded it. “I’m just fantastic with sticks and balls.”

The pink hue of his cheeks in the face of her purposeful innuendo caused a giggle to bubble.

Scrubbing the back of his neck, he looked away. “Well, alright then.”

“Can I get next?” a male voice drawled from behind her.

Turning toward him, she eyed a tall drink of cowboy. She arched an eyebrow in the face of the challenge. McKayla hadn’t planned on running the table tonight, but if they kept lining up, who was she to deny a man who was so ready to be parted with his money?

“Are you willing to put fifty on it?” she proposed.

“Only if you tell me your name,” he countered with a confident smile that had her stomach fluttering.

Pursing her lips, she surveyed him. A lean guy with short dark hair beneath a cowboy hat and a closely trimmed goatee.

It had to have been the Christmas lights because there was no way his brown eyes would just twinkle like that.

His sharp, symmetrical features were quite appealing.

Though pretty packaging wasn’t enough. He could still be a dick.

She considered whether to use the fake name she handed out to creepers at bars or to be honest.

Since her previous competitor remained within earshot, she shrugged. What was the worst that could happen? “McKayla.”

“Nice to meet you.” He reached for one of the pool sticks in the stand beside her. “I’m Wyatt.”

As he did, he brushed her shoulder with a hard as hell bicep.

It wasn’t an aggressive gesture. It was more because of the close quarters of the narrow bar than anything else.

Her mind wandered to what he looked like beneath that embroidered black long-sleeve button-down.

Stepping aside, allowing him space, she did her best to find the oxygen he’d sucked out of the room.

McKayla hadn’t been this hot and bothered by a guy in a while. She’d been so focused on riding that she hardly noticed anything else. God. When was the last time she’d been interested in anyone? She was definitely due for some flirting and… well… she’d see where things went.