Page 52 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

“He’s a mixologist?” Dominic asked.

“Bingo.”

“I like him already,” he said. “Keep that one close, Draven.”

Max was never truly going to bemine.

His sister was my ex, for one, and while that would never stop me from fucking Max until he was a heap on the floor… I was pretty sure it eliminated me fromhisprospects, even if he was on a fun little experimentation journey with male attention.

But my desires didn’t listen to logic.

They never did.

And one desire was stronger than all the others, ravenous inside me, one wolf that was gnawing at its leash.

I will protect Max Burnett like he’s my own personal possession.

Maybe it was fueled by guilt.

I couldn’t fix anything in Montana, but…

I could fix something for Max.

Or maybe I really was just thinking with my dick.

Max’s body was like catnip to me. And his attitude was like a drug. Even when he was obviously intimidated by me, or when he told me I was a monster…

He stilltreatedme like I was his equal.

And I liked watching him tear down the restrictions he’d had on his life forever. The things hethoughthe knew, crumbling, as his sexuality opened up and his world quickly bloomed, spilling open like a rose.

He said he didn’t like change.

But he couldn’t avoid it, and it looked good on him.

“Call me if you hear anything, Dom,” I said before I hung up the phone. “Talk to you later.”

“Any ghost cat sightings lately?”a young, athletic guy was saying to Max.

I was two beers deep. It had been an hour since the festival had started, and I’d been going around to each of the stalls, trying samples and specifically avoiding Max’s tent, even as I kept a close watch on it.

Every time I caught Max smiling, I felt pulled toward his tent by an invisible string.

I was completely fucking addicted to him.

That smile was so charmingly sexy that I really couldn’t believe Maxdidn’tknow his online videos would perform so well.

He was radiant and welcoming, every time he smiled. I liked him so much, already, and I didn’t tend to like anyone.

No wonder a burly, gruff bar owner like Kane wanted Max around.

The Hard Spot tent had string lights hung along the top, with blue and pink backlights coming up from the ground. It looked like a miniature club.

I knew Max had seen me, I knew my presence was driving him crazy, and I liked the idea of making him feel that way for as long as possible.

“Hey, Andrew. No. Ghost cat’s been weirdly missing in action,” Max said to the other guy.

“Haunting somebody else’s bar?”

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