Page 2 of Dirty Cowboys
I chuckle as my comments go crazy. “I think they like you. Here you have it—a real-life cowboy in the flesh.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Marge says, placing a fresh drink in front of me. I move the camera around and she looks straight at the flashing light. “Don’t let the pretty faces and rough voices trick you. Cowboys might fuck you good, but they live to work.”
“Cheers to that,” a chorus of voices rings out from around the bar.
I do one last spin for my followers and end the live feed.
Marge slides Nash a whiskey, and he sends her a wink. With his arm still around my shoulder, he leans in again, the rough stubble from his beard tickling my ear.
“Margie was right, you know. Cowboys fuck reeeal good.” His smooth voice sends shivers down my spine.My cheeks flame, and I pick up a coaster and fan myself. Nash pulls back and chuckles.
As he turns and walks away, I watch the way his jeans shift over his perfectly sculpted ass. My mouth goes dry, and I take another sip of my drink. I wasn’t coming here to get drunk, but here we are, and now I’m tipsy and horny as hell. I won’t be that girl though, the one that turns up in a new town and sleeps with the town player. Not that I know if that’s Nash, but in small towns, news travels fast. Plus, I don’t just want a quick fuck. I want to explore my fantasies, and that needs to be done in a way that stays private.
I sigh, and Marge walks over and leans down on the bar, getting on my level. “What is going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“Have you ever had a secret you’re too afraid to tell anyone?”
She smiles, and the wrinkles around her mouth straighten. “Can’t say that I have, but then again, I’m an open book.”
“I wish I were that brave. It’s not even that bad.”
“What is it? Maybe telling a stranger might give you a feel for how people might react.”
She is right; I can’t tell anyone. I know they would judge me or maybe even think I’m a freak. I want to keep my personal life away from my followers and my family, yet I have a secret blog that is public.
“I have a blog where I write my deepest, darkest fantasies called Indie’s Inner Thoughts. I like knowing someone might find it and be into the same things I am.” As I lean in closer to her, I lower my voice. “Do girls even want to be called names during sex?”
Marge nods and opens her mouth, but then she looks up; I hadn’t even realized someone had joined us. As he slides his empty glass across the bar, Marge straightens and takes it.
“So, Miss Authenticity, how long are you in town?”
I shrug. “It depends.”
“On what?” Duke asks, his voice deep and raspy enough to make my thighs clench and my breath catch. He doesn’t miss it either, half smirking at me.
“On whether I find whatever it is I’m looking for.”
He leans his broad frame against the bar, angling his body toward me. His presence demands attention, and with the alcohol buzzing in my brain, I want to fall at his feet and obey his every word.
Marge slides his drink across the bar to him, and the amber liquid catches my eye as his calloused fingers wrap around the glass. He lifts it toward his mouth, his gaze locking onto mine, and instantly my pulse beats an erratic tempo in my neck.
I’m mesmerized, staring as the rim meets his lips, which curve up at the corners as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. The drink disappears in onemouthful, and my ovaries explode as I watch him swallow.
He sets the empty glass down, not breaking eye contact. A single drop of whiskey clings to his bottom lip, and when his tongue swipes out to catch it, I have to grip the edge of the bar to steady myself.
“Knock it off, Duke—the poor girl won’t be able to walk out of here.” Marge’s voice brings me back to reality, and I blink a few times.
He laughs and takes the fresh drink she hands him, winking at me before he walks back to his table.
“I think I have had enough to drink. Do you have Ridez or an Uber around here?”
Marge laughs as she shakes her head. “No, we have Wyatt and Josie.”
She raises her voice as she says their names, and two people younger than me walk over to the bar. The girl looks me over, and I see the way she shakes her head when she looks at my boots. The guy, however, seems to be way more interested.
“Indie needs a ride home; she’s staying at the Patterson’s old place.”
Wyatt smiles at me. “You have your keys?”
