Page 4 of Rodeo Rivals (Hope Runs Deep #11)

Wyatt

W here the hell had this woman come from? How did McKayla get the balls to curve like that? She had to be a professional or something. There was no way a normal person could play pool the way she did.

“What do you do for a living again?” Wyatt asked.

Offering him a thousand-watt smile, she lifted her shoulders. “My family has a ranch.”

He couldn’t help but smirk. A good country woman was always his weakness. Especially one thick in the middle with hips, ass, and thighs to match. She was a walking fantasy.

She raised the stick over her head as she rested one glorious ass cheek on the bumper of the table.

Lowering her arms so the cue was behind her made her back arch and forced her breasts forward—on full display for him to ogle—were he so inclined.

Though he should probably be a gentleman and not a creepy ass.

Averting his eyes while she took the shot, he watched the eight ball fall into the side pocket. Proud as punch, she stood, wearing the cutest and smuggest grin he’d ever seen. McKayla was nothing but trouble. The good kind.

“That’ll be fifty,” she said with a pop of her hip and holding out her hand.

After a slight nod, he hung his head briefly as he pulled out his wallet. “You sure you’re not a shark or something?”

She lifted one shoulder in a brief shrug. “Not professionally.”

He snorted as he extended the bill toward her.

When she reached for it, he snapped it back. “Can I get you a drink?”

She eyed him warily as he slowly re-offered the money.

Brazenly, she snatched the bill. Her gaze swept up and down—no doubt sizing him up.

Standing a bit straighter, he rocked his shoulders a bit as though preening.

From her back pocket, she pulled out a cell phone and glanced at the screen. “Yeah. It’s still early. Why the hell not?”

As he approached her side, she tucked her phone and the cash away. He held out his elbow, and she peered up at him. There wasn’t that much of a height difference between them, but it was just enough for her to tilt up her chin as she gave him yet another side-eye.

“Just trying to be a gentleman.”

“I didn’t know they still made those.”

“I’m an old model,” he said as she rested her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m almost thirty.”

“Should I call you Grandpa?”

“I prefer Daddy.”

Wide-eyed, she sputtered and tripped over her own feet.

Unable to contain himself, he laughed while catching her. “I’m kidding.”

Regaining her composure and running a hand over her ponytail, she cleared her throat.

“I mean,” he began as he leaned against her so their shoulders bumped, “unless you’re into that.”

“Oh my God,” she said on a chortle and playfully slapped his arm.

Which wasn’t an answer.

He held up his hands. “I’m just saying.”

Covering her face as they approached the bar, she shook her head. “If you want me to stick around for more than one sip, stop saying stuff like that.”

“Noted.” He pulled out the stool for her and gestured for her to take a seat. “You’re vanilla,” he teased with a playful wink.

She scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said and took a seat.

“Are you offering?” he asked as he sat beside her.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Wyatt smirked, proud that their spirited and flirty banter had rendered her speechless. He won.

The bartender came over, drying a glass with a white cloth. She glanced between them and jutted her chin in their direction.

“I’ll have another Blue Moon and…” he said and turned toward McKayla, waiting for her to order.

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed and turned her attention back to the woman slinging drinks. “A Kentucky Mule, please.”

Wyatt quirked a brow. That was new. He’d never heard of those before. Shifting his focus, he made eye contact with the bartender. “And a Kentucky Mule,” he repeated as he slid a twenty onto the bar. “Whatever that is.”

McKayla

It could’ve been the drinks or maybe the dry spell, but either way, making out with Wyatt in a back booth of a bar when the lights came on wasn’t how McKayla expected to end her night.

As the establishment got glaringly bright, she pulled back.

Blinking, she ran her fingers along her swollen lips as her eyes adjusted.

Hadn’t they just announced last call? Where had the night gone?

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” the bartender hollered.

Well, that was an interesting conundrum, wasn’t it? Considering her actual home was in Kentucky, she wasn’t about to head there. Though her temporary home wasn’t too far.

“Are you good to drive?” he asked as he curled the end of her hair around his finger.

“I took an Uber here,” she said. “What about you?”

“Let’s go,” the impatient bar worker snapped.

With a nod, Wyatt scooted out of the booth so she could follow. Thankfully, they weren’t the last ones to leave, but they had definitely overstayed their welcome. What time was it anyway?

Wyatt draped an arm over her shoulders. “I’m good. I had two beers.”

She’d had four drinks herself. McKayla definitely shouldn’t be behind the wheel. Which was why she had planned on someone else taking her home. Someone she paid.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked, begging the question rattling in her brain.

As they exited the bar into the darkness of the night, she considered the risk of getting in a vehicle with the guy she barely knew. The two of them in close quarters—what’s the worst that could happen?