Page 37 of Ridin' Free
I did what I was told, and the burn I felt as the liquid went down was enough to chase away the residue of my humiliation. When I slammed the empty glass against the counter, Shepherd winked.
I tipped an imaginary hat in a silent show of gratitude, and then my phone began to vibrate against my backside.
I didn’t bother looking to see it who it was, sure it could only be one person. The irritation which came with that certainty was enough to throw me right into my routine. When she called again—and again—and again, I almost felt like a masochist, pleased to have something about which to be angry.
Then, shortly after seven o’clock, when the second act of the night took to the stage, the ringing stopped. At first, I was too busy to notice. The bar was already on the verge of being packed, and all three of us slinging drinks had our hands full. Wrangler, back from his honeymoon, was our muscle at the door, and the energy in the place had shifted.
It was after nine when Bull walked in, Twister on his heels, and I realized my phone had been silent for a while. They both came to my side of the bar, but neither of them spoke a word about my out-of-town problem. They each ordered a drink, then went to find someplace to kick back and enjoy the show.
Every moment I had for the next hour, I glanced Twister’s way—but he acted as if he didn’t notice, even though I knew he did. I wasn’t dumb. If that afternoon taught me anything, it was that he wasn’t the only Stallion who had an eye on me. Except, rather than put me out of my misery, he seemed intent on forcing me to trust him—trust he’d handled it, as he said he would.
Whatever that meant.
The rest of the night wore on like an ordinary one. The patrons kept my mind busy while the music filled the empty space left unoccupied. When two A.M. rolled around, we were kicking people out, as always.
I wasn’t sure when Twister snuck away, but it would have been a lie to say I wasn’t disappointed I missed my chance to talk to him.
I should have known better.
When Mustang and I stepped outside, I looked across the lot, and there he was—leaning against the side of my Bronco.
“Hey,” muttered Mustang after he locked the door. I glanced up at him, adjusting my purse over my shoulder as he continued, “Hope it goes without sayin’—but you need somethin’, you say the word. Understood?”
It was as if he’d raised his booted foot and kicked through the still-wet mortared bricks of the wall I’d spent the last several hours patching up in my mind. It’d been so long since I felt so fragile, and it was really starting to piss me off.
“I’m gonna need all you fuckers to stop bein’ so nice to me,” I muttered, only half joking.
Mustang freed a tired chuckle as he nodded, headed for his hog.
“Good luck with that,” he replied with a parting wave. “Get home safe.”
I watched him go, taking a moment to pull in a breath, and then started across the parking lot. When I reached the Bronco, I didn’t even get the chance to ask before Twister reported, “They’re gone. They won’t be back. Trust me.”
I hesitated long enough to come to the conclusion I didn’t want to know what that meant. I didn’t care. It was handled. I was free of the burden. For now, at least.
“Thanks,” I murmured, not sure what else to say.
Still leaning against my driver’s side door, Twister looked down at me and said, “So, Ali-Mae.”
I quirked an eyebrow at him as I shot back, “How ‘bout you don’t call me that and I won’t call youBenson.”
With a grin, Twister dipped his chin in a nod.
“Is this going to be your thing?” I asked, gesturing toward him, propped up against my ride. “Waitin’ for me at my car night after night?”
“Depends. You gonna give me your number?”
A twinge of nervous excitement flickered in my belly, and I knit my eyebrows together. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. Thinking back on the kiss we’d shared earlier—and the one from the night before, in the very spot where I now stood—I couldn’t deny I was more than a little attracted to him. He made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time; some things I hadn’t feltever. It was addicting, which meant it was stupid. I knew better than to think something that felt so good could last. Not for someone like me.
Yet, this truth didn’t stop the weakest part of me from asking, “What are we doin’ here?”
Twister straightened, dropping his arms to his sides. “Whatever the fuck we want. You want to take it slow? I’m not in any hurry—but don’t even try to tell me you don’t want this after you damn near pulled my hair out earlier.
“I’ll get your number; you’ll get mine. We’ll go out again when you’re ready or Monday night. Whichever comes first.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
It was nearly three o’clock Sunday morning. Under his conditions, that meant he wanted to go out today or tomorrow.
