Page 15 of Roped in Rawhide

But I still offer Gemma a questioning tilt of my chin. “Are you interested in being my one and only floozy?”

Her eyes narrow into sharpened steel. “I’m two seconds away from punching you in the nuts.”

My sigh is exaggerated as I slide my focus back to the bartender. “Just the martini and tacos for now.”

Gemma studies me closely as the woman behind the counter goes to fill her order. “That proves nothing other than you’re watching me too closely. Also, I’m not sharing with you.”

“I’d never assume otherwise.”

“Yet you’re hinting at an invitation to stay.”

That’s all I want. I can picture our future taking shape from this moment. “What if I promise to be on my best behavior?”

“I’m afraid to see what that looks like. Your manwhore cooties are already ruining my reputation.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re worse. Relentless to a fault.” Gemma sighs and motions for me to sit. “Lucky for you, I’m not in the mood to be alone. Take a load off.”

My heart takes flight, drumming an erratic beat she can probably hear over the music. When my ass meets the cushion, pride surges through me. Winning an all-around championship has nothing on this feeling. That spark ignites into a blaze when our knees bump.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Whatever you do, please don’t make another scene.”

My smirk is a promise I have no intention of keeping. “I won’t disappoint you, baby.”

“Baby? Absolutely not.” My scolding tone is solely reserved for Chance, but I smile at Jessica when she drops off my cocktail.

The bartender hovers, sliding a cautious glance at the man next to me. “You good, Gem?”

“About to be better.” I raise my glass. “Thanks for this.”

She nods and pushes off the counter. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

I wait for Chance to speak up, but he remains quiet. His loss. The drinks here are fantastic. A little liquid courage is just what I need to take the edge off this prickly situation.

Smooth vodka, strong espresso, creamy chocolate, and whatever else is in this concoction pampers my taste buds. I smack my lips after a decadent sip. “Perfect. Appreciate the gesture, baby.”

Chance laughs at my emphasis on the endearment. “See? Has a nice ring to it.”

“You’re a pest. Be happy I haven’t booted you to the curb.”

“Honestly, I’m still waiting for you to scream at me.”

I scoff into my drink. “Not my style.”

Besides, a bitch fit would barely scratch the surface. What he deserves is a long-winded lecture that’s spread out over months on how to latch stitch a self-portrait or something equally unnecessary. That’s how the years I wasted as his friend feel.

My stomach knots as the lie tries to take root. I cringe and avert my gaze. The horde of women is still gathered on the sidelines. They’re all equally flawless and desperate. One goes so far as to fold her hands in a pleading motion.

“You’re being summoned.” I jut my chin in their direction.

But Chance doesn’t spare them a glance. “It’s not me they’re after.”

“Just your cock,” I reply wistfully. “You must be dynamite in the sack.”

He chokes on nothing but shock, which trails off into a dry chuckle. “Wanna test that theory?”