Page 3 of Duke
“All good things, Wheeler.”
Why is it so damn sexy when a guy says your name?
Really, whenthisguy says it.
I’m smiling like an idiot. I like how easy this feels. How light and fun, the opposite of how I felt when I woke up this morning.
“I’m in.”
____
We pile into a convoy of mud-splattered pickup trucks and head into town. Hartsville has all of one thousand residents, but Main Street is hopping tonight.
It’s love at first sight when I lay eyes on the Rattler. It’s tucked into a row of weathered buildings with big, old-fashioned windows whose hand-blown panes waver in the gleam of passing headlights. The sidewalk is lit up with every shade of neon, thanks to the beer signs that hang inside the bar.
Duke holds the door open for me. Like his brothers, he’s put on a broken-in denim jacket. I’m glad he’s still wearing the baseball hat. Add in his smile and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, and you have one very tall glass of water.
Ryder catches me ogling his brother. “You sure that’s the twin you want?”
Duke scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Trust the lady. She’s making the right call.”
“Ain’t my style to step on any toes.” Ryder holds up his hands. “But you change your mind, Wheeler, just know that I’m available.”
He disappears into the bar. Duke waits for me, still smiling.
“Such a gentleman.” I cross my arms.
“My brother’s not. Just so you know.”
“So you’re different, but I’m guessing you’re also identical? As in y’all are identical twins?”
Duke’s barrel of a chest rises on an inhale. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“But fortunately, you’re the better-looking one.”
His lips twitch. “You tell it like it is, Wheeler Rankin. I like that about you.”
“I like that about you too.” I step inside the Rattler and inhale a lungful of stale-beer smell. “But wow, Ilovethis.”
“Just wait ’til the music starts. Whatcha drinking?” Duke nods at the U-shaped bar that dominates the high-ceilinged space.
“I like Shiner. Here, I’ll get the first round—”
“You’re cute.” Duke grins down at me. “When you come to my dive bar in my town, I’m buying. Shiner it is.”
I follow him to the bar, where he tells the bartender to put the pair of longnecks he orders on his tab.
This man couldn’t be more classic small-town cowboy if he tried.
Then again, he did talk about that yacht. And he kept bringing up Bellamy Brooks, which made me think he’s interested to know more about the business.
Maybe Duke has dreams that are bigger than Hartsville. The idea makes my chest feel funny, maybe because I also havedreams that are bigger—different at least—than the dreams my parents have for me.
Ignoring that, I focus on the tug of heat I feel low in my center as I shamelessly check out his ass. It lookscutein those Wranglers.
“Hearts or darts?” He turns around, beers in hand.
I furrow my brow. “Is that cowboy for ‘hello, here’s your beer’?”
