Page 11 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“I think it’s time I went back to my friends.”

Chapter 5

Bo

I watch Brandy storm off through the crowd, her thick curls bouncing with every furious step, and I can’t stop staring at her. Two months of thinking about her, and this is how we meet again, thanks to my idiot brother stirring up shit like always.

She’s so beautiful it hurts and fiercer than I remember her, which only adds to her appeal. Silver sparkles and scarlet lips; who knew I’d find that combination so appealing.

I turn on Jensen, clenching my jaw so tightly it aches. “What the hell did you do?”

Jensen leans against the bar, grinning like he won the damn lottery. “Not a thing, brother. She marched up and laid into me, thinking I was you. Called me Bo and everything. Sounded like you two had quite the night.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jen.” I drag my hand through my hair. “I told you about her. I told you she was different.”

“Yeah, and now I see why.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. “She’s hot. She’s got fire. And she’s pissed.”

I don’t have time for his bullshit. I push off the bar and follow Brandy, weaving through the Saturday night crowd. She’s back at a table with a group of women. In the middle is a woman in a red sequined top and the biggest earrings I’ve ever seen, wearing a birthday crown.

Brandy’s sitting stiffly, her cheeks flushed dark, staring down at her drink like it holds answers to all of life's most complex questions.

The one most pressing in my mind is why she seems so upset when it was her who chose not to call me.

I stop right beside her chair, towering over her. The table goes quiet.

“Brandy,” I say, keeping my voice low and calm, wanting to defuse whatever tension has stiffened her spine like a steel rod. “Can I talk to you? Please?”

The birthday girl looks me up and down, then grins widely. “Well, well. Another tall drink of cowboy. You boys good with your hands? Because Brandy here’s in need of some serious handling.”

One of the other women snorts into her drink. Brandy makes a strangled sound and shoots to her feet.

“Not here,” she mutters, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. She drags me through the bar and out the side door into the cool night air of the parking lot, and I follow, staring at her ass as it sways in her tight black pants. I gripped that big ass with both my hands while I licked her out from behind. The memory thickens my dick into a bar the presses uncomfortably against the seem of my jeans.

The door swings shut behind us, muffling the music. Gravel crunches under our boots. She lets go of me like I burned her and crosses her arms tight over her chest, putting space between us.

She’s fire, wearing red lipstick like war paint teamed with black pointed, spike-heeled boots like my hottest fantasy come to life. I can’t stop staring at her pretty brown eyes and smooth brown skin, and those pouty red lips that drove me wild.

“You have a twin,” she says flatly. “An identical twin. Who looks exactly like you and sounds like you and—” She gestures helplessly. “What the actual fuck, Bo? You never mentioned a twin.”

I exhale slowly, stepping closer but not crowding her. “Jensen. My brother. We’re identical, yeah. I should’ve mentioned it that night, but… we had other things to talk about. And then talking was the last thing on our minds.”

She lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and rubs a spot in the center of her chest. “I made a complete fool of myself in there, yelling at him like some crazy woman. And he thought it was funny.”

“He’s an asshole,” I say simply. “But he’s harmless. Mostly.” I take another step, softening my voice. “I’ve been thinking about you, Brandy. Every damn minute since that night. I told Jensen about you—how beautiful you are… how strong. How you light up when you talk about your family.” I step closer, bending so I can breathe in her fruity scent. “How you let go for me like nobody else ever has.”

Her pretty dark eyes flick up to mine, wary but softening at the edges.

“I waited for you to call,” I continue, lowering my voice to a gravelly rumble and leaning even closer. “I wanted to give you space, but every time I drove through town, I hoped I’d see you. I’ve been dying for another chance to help you relax. To take that weight off you again.”

She bites her lip, looking away toward the neon sign of the bar. The tightness drains out of her shoulders.

“I wanted to call,” she admits. “So many times. But work’s been hell, Naomi’s been sick, Elijah wakes up screaming half the nights, and mama’s been pushing me toward some boring deacon from church who probably folds his socks and underwear by color.” She huffs a tired laugh. “This life… it doesn’t leave room for me, let alone men like you.”

I reach out slowly and tuck a curl behind her ear. “Men like me?”

“Men who take up so much space.”

“Make room tonight.”