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I take two steps, closing the distance between us. Bringing my hand up, I grasp her dark, luscious curls, drawing her close. I don’t miss the shiver that wracks through her body at my touch. “It’s not over because the asshole is currently gawking at us through the window. It’s not over because half the bar got either video or photos of us together, and it’s certainly not over because I need you to return the favour.”
Dakota sucks in a gasp, but nods.
“Good girl,” I growl before lowering my lips to hers. I know I’m putting on a show for those that are still looking, but I don’t care. I’ve kissed women for less.
“Fucking hell,” Wyatt curses behind her, but I don’t care.
Dakota grasps my shirt, holding the fabric tight in her fists as she pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. I wasn’t prepared for my body’s intense reaction to her lips meeting mine. I need this kiss like I need to breathe. Like her exhale is what lets me take my next breath.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I pull back. I don’t long for women. I never feel anything other than lust—an itch to scratch.
But feelings? I don’t do feelings.
“Get in the truck, sweetheart, and give Wyatt your keys.” She looks back at me, stunned, brushing her fingers over her lips. I add a stern “now,” that gets her jumping into action.
As if remembering we aren’t alone, she passes her keys to a pissed off Wyatt with a smile, jumping into the waiting truck.
I close the door firmly and turn to him. “Follow us back to my place.” Wyatt’s grimace turns to a smirk, making me add, “Not a word,” before I stalk to the driver’s side and tear out of the parking lot.
Chapter Three
Dakota
Sitting in the passenger seat of this massive beast of a truck, I can’t help but stare at the man beside me, wondering what the fuck happened.
I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did when I came up with the idiotic idea to grab the first stranger in the bar and pretend he was my boyfriend. Of course I had to grab the most high profile, woman-using asshole in town.
Chance fucking Declan.
Even though I’ve never met him before, I know of him. Everyone in Whiskey Falls knows of him. It was big news when he inherited the family ranch last year when his dad passed away. Every paper and gossip rag in town wouldn’t stop talking about the playboy son’s inheritance and what it meant for the town. Not only is the ranch the biggest supplier of cattle in the area, but it also sponsors the local rodeo, which makes up the vast majority of the town’s economy every summer.
“Are you just going to sit there staring at me all night?” His gruff voice rings out from the other side of the cab. I hate how the gruff timbre of his voice makes me press my legs together, fighting the rising heat in my core. I hadn’t realized I was staring, but now that my focus is on him, I find myself unable to stop.
He looks older than I would have imagined, with his tanned face and faint lines around his eyes. His black cowboy hat looks clean, but well-worn. He dons a black button-up shirt and dark denim jeans. He ditched his leather jacket when he got in the truck, which lets me see just how his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt. He looks like he comes from money while simultaneously showing he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. The perpetual scowl he seems to wear on his face is likely to scare a lot of people off, but not me.
“Just taking in what happened back there.”
“The luck of the draw when you latch onto a random stranger in a bar,” he mutters, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I…” I start, but I’m not sure how to finish the sentence.
I’m not scared of being alone in a bar; that’s never bothered me. What bothers me is Laughlin thinking I’m not over him. I can’t stand the thought that he might think I spend my days pining over him, or incapable of moving on. That’s the farthest from the truth. I’ve never been happier since I kicked his sorry ass to the curb.
“What did you even see in him, anyway?” Chance asks, stealing a glance in my direction. “I don’t know anything about you, but I know what a weasel he is. You don’t seem like the kind to chase after—whatever it is he has.”
I’m at a loss for words, and not because I don’t know how to answer him. It’s because he’s right. I’m not one to follow a guy because of money or status. I couldn’t give two fucks about any of that. What happened with Laughlin just seems to be the first in a long line of bad decisions, such as getting into trucks with strangers after grabbing them in bars.
I mean, what am I doing? I willingly got in with a man I don’t know, all while giving his friend the keys to my car. I don’t do this. This isn’t who I am.
“So, what was it? First love? Family ties? It can’t be that you were blinded by lust because he’s not that good looking, nor do I think he’s good in bed.”
I snicker. I can’t argue with that last point.
“You act like you know him well, but I’ve never heard him mention you. Why is that?” I turn in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m intrigued, even though I have no right to be. The lawyer in me wants to get to the bottom of whatever bad blood lies between the two of them.
“You first,” he growls.
Dammit, there’s that voice again. Goosebumps ripple along my flesh as if he caressed me with his hand instead of his words.
