Page 57 of Memories of Us

I rolled my eyes and shook my head before turning to the old cowboy whose wide-eyed stare tracked a course down the side of the bar.

Too busy trying to locate Brenton again, I didn’t notice the man’s closeness until his tight grip wrapped around my forearm. “I asked nicely. Now come on, dance with me.”

I snorted. “That was a damn command, not you asking.”

Stale beer breath wafted up my nose when he leaned in too close and said, “Bet a tough woman like you likes being ordered around.”

A tingling sensation of being watched had me glancing over my shoulder. Brenton stood two feet away, his glare promising a slow death locked on the man touching me.

“I only take orders from him,” I said with a nod in Brenton's direction. “Not sure why I’m warning a douchebag like you, but leave, now, before he rips your ass apart for touching me.”

The burly man looked in the direction I nodded and smirked at the stone-faced Brenton. “That pretty boy? Ah hell, baby, ditch that city boy and let me show you a good time.”

The stupid shots of tequila had me snorting again before I turned back around to the bar in obvious dismissal.

The old cowboy smirked down at his water cup. “A lady like you shouldn't defend a man's balls. I think you castrated me.”

“I'm no lady,” I said, then raised my hand for another shot, only for it to be smacked down to the bar. “Hey,” I shouted, glancing over my shoulder with a scowl, knowing exactly who I’d find being so damn bossy.

Brenton's fiery green eyes pulled me back an inch in surprise. “No more shots. I don't know what you're trying to do or what happened between you and Ryder, but you're not getting blackout drunk on my watch.” His heated stare shifted down to the short skirt that was now barely covering my girly parts. He leaned down to brush his lips against the shell of my ear. “And don't forget you're not wearing any underwear.” With an exaggerated inhale, he closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck, I can smell you. Let’s go home and—”

Just as I closed my eyes, ready to get lost in his words, his lips pulled away. With an exaggerated pout, I swiveled back around.

My mouth gaped at the scene unfolding just feet away. The brute had wrangled up a couple of friends. Two big friends. All three men surrounded a relaxed and smirking Brenton.

“Let him fight,” said the old cowboy who'd also turned around to watch the show. “He's itching for it.” At his tilted nod, I focused on Brenton's fisted hands. “It's a guy thing, sweetheart. Defending our women and all.”

A small frown dipped the corners of my lips. “He just likes to fight, always has. I'm not his anything.”

The old man tipped his head back with a loud bark of a laugh. “Women. Let me guess. He hasn't told you, hasn't explained how he feels about you.”

I tucked a lock of dark hair behind my ears and looked to the sticky floor. “Well, yeah. I mean no....”

“Listen, I'll fill you in on us guys. We don't fight for just anyone. We only fight for the ones we love. And whether he's said it or not—hell, he might not even know it, but that man loves you.”

The four—or was it five?—shots were playing with my hearing. That or the old man was lying about the water and it was actually pure vodka in his cup. I not so casually leaned to take a quick sniff. Nope, not vodka, just water like he said.

Huh.

So did that mean what he said could be true?

Did Brenton Graves love me?

Warmth spread up my belly into my chest, and the noises of the bar turned hollow. I needed to leave before I turned into a drunk fool.

I stretched up high, using the barstool as leverage to scour the dance hall for Ryder, but came up empty.

Oblivious to the chaos behind me, I shoved off the bar to stand and stepped back while looking at my phone.

The old man's eyes went wide and he lunged for me.

Unfortunately he was too late to stop me from stepping right into the middle of a bar fight.

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