Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I don’t need the money now, but a bet is a bet, and when I win, I collect.
He sinks the eight ball, then tosses the stick in frustration on the table. Turning his back on the disgrace he left on that felt, he rests his hands on top of his hat. Annoyance shapes a tightened mouth, but then he seems to come to terms with the loss and grins. “Well played, Greene.”
“Thank you very much,” I say, holding out my hand. “Twenty bucks. Pay up, Grange.”
He slides his hand into his back pocket, making his pecs stand out against his shirt. Digging through a few bills, he settles on one and sets it flat on my palm. “I thought we were playing for fun?”
“It was fun. For me.” I grin up at him as I tuck the money in my front pocket. “And it’s always a delight to win your money.”
Chuckling, he says, “Yeah, just a fucking delight.” He leans against the table and tips the beer back, drawing a long pull from the bottle. His gaze stays focused on me over the glass bottom. When he lowers it, he leans in as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “You know, you sound a lot like Baylor right now.”
Being so close to him has me wanting more. I draw a figure eight on his chest, then smile up at him. “I’ll take that as the compliment I know you meant it as.”
“Figured you would, babe.” Tagger’s getting mouthy as he gets more comfortable around me. I don’t mind. I kind of like it. He shouldn’t take anyone’s crap, including mine. I don’t. I learned that from working in the men’s world of ranching. Stand up for yourself or get disrespected.
Whiskey’s has more room to breathe with each passing hour. A few have slipped by without much notice until now while we’re standing here in a brief patch of silence. Who knew everyone in The Pass had a midnight curfew? I scan once more for Lauralee. We’re not attached at the hip, but we generally keep tabs. I saw her playing darts earlier, then dancing with a guy we’ve seen around before, but I don’t see her now.
The band cleared out a while ago, but the pool tables are busy with people still waiting to play, so I step out of the way and pull my phone from my pocket.
Tagger asks, “Need another beer?”
“I don’t need one,” I reply, staring at my phone. No messages from her. “But I don’t want one either.” I glance up. “Thanks, though.”
I text:
Hey, where are you? Did you take off, in the bathroom, or hiding somewhere at Whiskey’s?
The three dots don’t show up, so I wait a few seconds, still staring at the screen.
He sets his bottle on a table half empty. “I think it’s time to go.”
The phone vibrates in my hand drawing my attention to it again. She replies:
I was tired and didn’t want to drink much since I was driving.
I would have gone with you.
Not a lie. I would have if she wanted me to. It’s been fun with Tagger, though, so I’m glad she didn’t.
I had no doubt you were in good hands.
I swing my gaze to his hands. They’re very good hands indeed. Big, capable, and strong enough to grab my hips. He’d have no problem handling me in bed since he kept me from face-planting.
Another message pops up.
I just got home. You have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.
With a giggle, I’m quick to reply.
That doesn’t leave much.
Lauralee sends:
Precisely my point.
I laugh again before putting my phone away. When my eyes reach those shaded greens from the black hat he’s wearing, I reach up to steal it from his head and set it on mine.
Something in his gaze darkens, and then, as if he’s seen heaven, he smiles. “You look good.” Glad he approves. The tip of the hat slips down over my brow, but instead of lifting it, he tilts his head sideways for a better view. “Want to get out of here?”
We’ve had some hot and cold moments the past few days, but smoothing through the misunderstandings has me thinking about the invisible lines he’s drawn in the sand when it comes to where we go from here. Blurring them was fun down at the river, but now I have no idea where we stand other than back to being friends again. A few beers won’t change that. A few bad decisions might, but that leads to other issues. And I don’t want issues with him without a chance to fix them.
So where does that leave us?
Some guys I recognize from over in Dover start racking the balls, which makes it a good time to move anyway.
“I’m ready,” I reply, unsure what exactly I’m agreeing to—a ride home or going somewhere else. That’s the thing about Tagger Grange—I trust him. He’s close enough to answer to my dad if he screws up, but not so close that the kiss we shared was weird. It was the opposite—what I always dreamed it would be.