Page 43 of Ride or Die

“Don’t.”

Surprised by the steely tone of his voice, I look up to see Cole shaking his head. “Don’t you dare,” he gruffs. “You let me deal with those guys, and Bruce, okay?”

Averting my eyes down to the makeup wipe I’m wringing between my fingers, I nod once.

“What time do you finish?”

“Midnight.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

I snap my head up. “I have my car.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll have Brady drive my truck back to the ranch.”

I study him then, noticing the shirt he’s wearing, the one brandishing patches with logos—a familiar beer brand, Rattlesnake Ranch, a few others I don’t know—stitched up hissleeves, his big belt buckle gleaming beneath the glow of the overhead drop lights.

“How was your… race?” I ask, not sure what to call bull riding.

Cole snorts a laugh. “Ride,” he corrects. “And, honestly, don’t fuckin’ ask. Tonight was….” He trails off again, one eye narrowing a touch as he studies my face. “Not a good night.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, frowning.

“Not your fault.” He shrugs. “It happens.”

“Thank you,” I murmur quietly.

“The hell are you thankin’ me for?” He chuckles.

“For holding me up when it felt like I was gonna fall,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Again.”

Cole’s eyes bounce between mine, something deep and unspoken in his gaze. But, instead of saying anything in return, he simply nods once before pushing off the dressing table.

“I’ll see you back out there,” he says on his way to the door.

And, in the reflection of the mirror, I see him open the door, the noise of the club outside flooding in and stealing the silence away. His eyes meet mine in the mirror once more, something unspoken yet full of promise passing between us, before he disappears out of view.

With a resigned sigh, I look back at my reflection, and it’s only then that I notice the hint of an unexpected smile as it curls my lips.

The last hour of my shift went surprisingly smoothly. Bruce barely even acknowledged me, let alone asked me about what occurred earlier, and the guys at Cole’s table were all super kind every time I returned with a round of drinks. The man—Austin—left with no more than a nod and a dip of his cowboy hat, tucking a three-hundred-dollar tip into my hand as he passed.

Thanks to him, and a few others, tonight was my most profitable night so far, despite my mortifying meltdown. And I can’t help but think that it has everything to do with the man currently waiting outside the staff entrance for me as I walk out into the cool night air.

Standing in the dimly lit parking lot, leaning against the side of the building, Cole turns at the sound of the heavy metal door as it closes behind me with a bang. He pushes off the wall and begins toward me, removing his hat to rake his fingers through his hair before replacing it again, his gaze doing a slow sweeping assessment of me. I changed out of my uniform and into leggings and a tank top, removing what was left of my makeup as best as I could, feeling a little more like myself at least.

“Ready?”

I nod.

Surprising me, Cole lifts the strap of my tote bag off my shoulder, taking it from me and carrying it as we navigate our way through the gravel lot toward my car parked at the end of the line.

“Keys?” Cole glances back at me.

I dig into my purse, pulling out the car keys, but before I can make a move to the driver’s side, Cole takes them, presses the button to disarm the locks, and opens the passenger door for me, waiting.

“I-I can drive,” I say, looking up at him.

“I got it,” is all he says in response, still holding the door open and scanning the empty parking lot while waiting for me to get in.