Page 7 of Sawyer

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He squeezes my hand one last time before dropping it. “It’s just, yeah, a hot girl name. You definitely fit the bill, Ava.”

Oh God oh God why does my name sound so sexy when he says it?

“Are all serial killers so smooth?” Dropping the towel, I give up on my shirt.

His lips twitch as he sips his Shiner. “You from Austin?”

“I’m not. We’re in town for a girls’ weekend.” I point a finger toward my sisters, who are trying, and quite clearly failing, to look like they’re not watching my every move. “You?”

“My brother Cash”—he points to a tall guy in a white cowboy hat—“just got engaged. We’re here to celebrate.”

“Bachelor party. Gotcha.”

“Kinda. One of my brothers couldn’t come, so …” Sawyer lifts a massive shoulder, tucking his free hand into his front pocket. “I mean, Cash wasn’t into the idea, so we pitched the trip as a team-building thing. We all work together.”

“Really? That’s cool. What do y’all do?”

He sips his beer. “Ranchers.”

My pulse skips. “Cowboys?”

“Born and raised, yeah.”

I hung out with plenty of cowboys when I lived on the ranch, and then again when I was on the barrel racing circuit in my late teens and early twenties. They can be wild, sure, but maybe …

I don’t know, maybe wild is what I’m looking for? Maybe it’s what was missing from the hookups I had.

“Very cool.” I tip back my longneck, trying not to gulp the beer. I need to slow down. Now is not the time to get sloppy. Not when a cute, considerate cowboy is looking at me likethat.

Like he very much wants to know more. Do more.

“What about you?” His eyes trail down my neck and chest, sending a pulse of heat through my center. “What do you do, Ava?”

“I just got a new job, actually.”

The skin at the edges of his eyes crinkles. “Sounds like that’s a good thing?”

“A very good thing.”

“But you’re not gonna tell me what it is. The very good new job.”

I push off the bar, straightening so that my elbow grazes his stomach as I lift my beer to my lips. “I have to make sure you’re not going to dismember me or my family first. The less you know, the better.”

He grins. I have the sudden urge to stick my tongue inside his dimple, the one on his right cheek.

“Am I allowed to know if you’d like to body-slam me again?” He glances at the dance floor.

I blink, realizing the band is playing a Shenandoah cover, “Two Dozen Roses.” How did I miss that?

Looking up at Sawyer, I have my answer.Right. The super-hot cowboy who keeps flirting with me.

“Sounds kinda dirty when you say it like that.” I step forward.

He steps forward, too, so that our faces are mere inches apart. “I’ll make it as dirty as you want, Ava.”

We burst out laughing at the same time.

---