Page 102 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

When Dominic and I were in high school together, we always used to sit at the back of the classroom, silently giving each other looks every time a classmate would say something we found funny.

Looking back on it now, we were… well, we were like theMean Girlsof our Montana prep school, except we were guys who were obsessed with wrestling, shooting ranges, and custom steel knives. We never bullied anyone, but we acted like we were above it all, cooler and more mature than our classmates.

Stupid. Juvenile. There was nothing “better” about us, and there wasn’t now, either.

But while I’d shed most of that gossip-fueled part of my identity, Dominic had held onto some of it. He’d gone into finance, which was ripe with opportunities to make himself feel superior to others. He treated me the same, but watching him with Max…

I almost felt that protective, possessive urge coming out in me.

Protective of him, even aroundDom.

I really was getting too involved in Max’s sphere.

“The Cocktail Bro,” Dom said now. “I’ll have to remember that one. I like cocktails.”

“Happy to make you some signature drinks if you come by the Hard Spot tonight.”

As we got our plates of food, I watched as Dom slipped out his phone, tapping out a text. I felt my phone buzz shortly after, and I looked at the message he’d sent.

Dominic

So this is your new plaything while you’re on your little Tennessee holiday?

Draven

No. Don’t text me right now.

He’s adorable. Nicer than your type usually is, though. No judgment.

It was more bullshit, because I saw Dom’s smirking, veryfull-of-judgment face as I slipped my phone away.

Hours later,we were all at the Hard Spot, because I wasn’t going to leave Max alone, and apparently Dominic wasn’t going to leavemealone.

“You going to tell me why you’re here?” I asked him from our spot on one end of the big, U-shaped bar. I set my cocktail glass down on the wooden bar top, enjoying the satisfying sound it made.

Dom’s eyes landed on my glass.

“Maybe if you tell me why you’re drinking that instead of straight whiskey like you always do.”

I waved my hand through the air. “Max likes making up new things. He told me whiskey is good with… what was it,citronextract? Citron extract mixed with a tiny sprig of thyme? Anyway, it’s good, so shut your mouth.”

Dom took a sip of his own preferred drink—vodka, preferably at a sub-zero temperature.

The Hard Spot was unusually quiet tonight. Groups filtered in and out, but the jukebox was on low, nobody was dancing, andI’d only seen a couple of college students playing pool. Max was busy behind the bar, because Kane had come out and given him a project—he was reorganizing the top shelf liquors, on a little step stool, in between serving customers.

I liked watching him work.

Honestly, I’d have enjoyed watching Max do anything, especially if it involved him facing away from me so I could see his ass.

And the relatively calm evening just made it easier to watch the front doors.

To look at every single person who walked in, making sure none of them were Max’s stalker.

But it also meant that Dominic and I stood out like two very well-dressed sore thumbs here tonight. I always dressed a little differently than the cowboys here in Bestens to begin with, but Dom was in that stupid fancy suit and kept looking around like he was above this place.

Not so long ago, I felt like I was above this place, too.

“I’m here because I was tired of being far away from you. Is that good enough, Drave?”

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