Page 30 of Hoofin’ It

Unfortunately for me, until I knew if hazel-eyed Sally was the alpaca I’d carted from New York, I couldn’t justify escaping for the sake of my personal comfort. If they were the same, I wasn’t leaving without her, although I had no idea how I’d get her out of a place with more guards than a prison.

“Let’s,” I agreed, shifting on the bench so I could wiggle out of my jacket.

Sally had other ideas, including grabbing hold of my jacket and sliding her hands along my sides, dipping her fingers into my pockets to relieve me of my wallet and cell, which she set on the table. “Wouldn’t want to damage anything getting you out of that nice leather coat, now would we?”

“Of course not.”

She took her time checking my pockets, cleaning them out, before she slid the leather off my shoulders.

While there was nothing overtly sexual about her touch, between the alcohol and my inability to keep my gaze from wandering, I was squirming by the time Sally freed me from my jacket and tossed it aside.

The waiter made an appearance and took my jacket.

“They’ll bring it to you later when you’re ready to leave,” Sally murmured. “During the main show, they’ll claim your phone, too—no devices, including cameras, are allowed. For the sake of privacy, of course. It’ll be kept with your jacket.”

If I hadn’t had two extra phones stuck in my boots along with an extra battery, I’d be worried. “As long as it’s returned, I don’t mind.”

Sally’s brows furrowed, but she recovered a moment later and forced a smile. “Of course.”

If Sally was part of the sex trafficking ring—and a former alpaca with a spitting problem—she wouldn’t be allowed to have anyone take a picture of her. Rather than asking for permission, I muted my phone, slipped it off the table, and held it on my lap, hopefully shielded from any unwanted recording devices. Her eyes widened.

“Do you like motorcycles, Sally?” I asked to cover the sound as I snapped a picture of her.

“If men like you ride them, I think I’ve a newfound appreciation for them.”

“And you called me a flirt. You, Sally, are the real flirt here.” Maybe I was a virgin and denser than a rock when it came to relationships, but I’d been around my parents enough to know how the game was played. I chuckled to cover the sound of me snapping another picture of her. “Is this when I surrender and let you do anything you want with me? I told you I wasn’t all that good at small talk.”

She slid her hand under the table; to anyone watching us from afar, her grip on my upper thigh probably looked far more personal. “For some reason, I doubt there’s anything small about you.” She paused, and her fingers dug into my leg. “Nothing small about you at all.”

I somehow managed to text the pair of pictures to my parents and Lewis without dropping my phone. I also warned them not to message me, as I’d be losing the device during an upcoming show. I deleted the conversation and set the phone on the bench between us, leaving it open to a note app.

Since it’d look awkward if I did absolutely nothing, I reached up and caught hold of a loose lock of her hair, spinning it around my finger. “I never thought I’d find myself liking a blond, but you’re something special, Sally.”

“You’re only saying that because I have my hand between your legs.”

Well, technically, her hand was on my leg, but if she wanted to give a good show for any listeners, she was succeeding. I prayed her hand remained where it was, or I’d be more than embarrassed in a heartbeat. “It might be playing at least a minor role, yes.”

Her laugh startled me. “You’re an honest one. I like that.”

She scooted closer and angled her body so she could rub her bare foot against my jeans, which put her left hand near my phone. I pretended not to notice, reaching across the table to retrieve our glasses and bring them closer. I refilled both and took a sip of mine, taking deep breaths to maintain my composure. “Honesty works pretty well for me. No one can catch me in a lie if I’m always telling the truth.”

A few stray strands of her hair fell over her cheek, giving me a convenient excuse to shield her from any watchful eyes while she used my phone. I tucked them behind her ear, careful to keep my touch light and gentle.

“Then tell me, Mr. Honest, how did such a sweet man get trapped in such a hard, rugged body?”

I couldn’t hear the click of my phone’s camera, but I caught a glimpse of the screen reflecting most of my face, and to help her out a bit, I angled my head so she could get a better shot. “I’m not all that good with the wine and roses, but I like sharing my whisky with a pretty woman. I’m also a fan of sunset rides on horseback.”

“A motorcycle-riding cowboy. I’m a lucky girl tonight.”

Anyone listening in would think I was the one about to get lucky. Judging from the nature of the texts she was sending, there were going to be a lot of unhappy people in the club within a few hours, as she was furiously tapping names, addresses, and locations to a phone number.

I scooted a little closer to her, ducking my head so it looked like I was dropping kisses along the length of her neck. Hanging out with a lot of single cops, I’d heard more than my fair share of pick-up lines, although most of them were painfully awkward at best.

I couldn’t afford to stay quiet, especially when she was frantically trying to pass information to someone, making the most of a bad—and recorded—situation. “How lucky do you want to be? We could make our own luck.”

She broke down laughing. If I had had any pride or dignity left, I might’ve grimaced at her mirth, but I ended up laughing with her. Whoever was listening probably thought we were beyond drunk, although we hadn’t even reached the halfway point of the bottle yet.

If she wanted to laugh, I’d give her a reason to laugh, and I ran my fingers along her bare sides, tickling her. She squealed and laughed harder, and with my head ducked, I got a good look at her typing on my phone. While she wiggled and showed every evidence of being ticklish, her left hand tapped away at the screen. When she finished, like me, she sent a message saying she was losing access to the phone and deleted the conversation and all record of her communications with the outside world.