Page 6

"So he's annoying?"

"Oh, he's a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"Loud. Opinionated. A professional pain in the ass. And between him and his brother, Mason, they leave a trail of broken hearts all over this county."

Troy interjects, "Two ranch waters." He holds the drinks out.

"Thank you," I reply, taking the glass.

She reaches for hers, lets her fingers linger on Troy's a moment, and sweetly states, "I think I'll be ready for that dance after I finish this drink."

He tips his hat. "Yes, ma'am. I'll come find you." He winks and crosses the room.

I glance back at Jagger, who keeps getting stopped by women. I ask, "So they're players?"

She takes a sip of ranch water and confirms, "Look at them. They don't even have to try."

I'm not sure who "them" is. I can't take my eyes off the cowboy coming toward us.

A blonde in skin-tight jeans steps into his path, hooks both hands around the back of his neck, and plants a kiss square on his lips. He laughs the second she lets him go, says something that makes her swat his chest, then continues toward us without missing a beat. She watches him walk away with a dreamy smile while another woman at the bar shamelessly checks him out.

A strange pinch settles low in my stomach before I can stop it. I glance at Carla. "You weren't kidding."

He cuts through the last cluster of people like he's got a personal invitation, and for one wild second, I think he's going to walk right past us. But he stops next to Carla, hooks an arm around her shoulders, and hollers over the music, "There's my favorite troublemaker."

"You wish," Carla shoots back, hugging him with one arm so she doesn't spill her ranch water.

"I don't have to wish. I already know." He lets her go and turns. Then he takes off his hat, holds it to his chest, and pins his clear, light-blue eyes on me.

A low, electric hum starts in my chest and works its way down. Up close, he's even more of a problem than he was across the room. His dark hair's tousled, like he pushed his hand through it too many times, but it only makes him sexier. A shadow of stubble dances along his jaw, which has no business being that sharp. And his gaze is clearly doing a slow, unhurried sweep of me, making my skin feel two sizes too small.

"Well." His mouth curves. "Who do we have here?"

Carla pushes me closer to him and announces, "This is Lainey. My college roommate and bestie. Be nice."

He quickly glances at her, stating, "I'm always nice." Then he holds out a hand. "Jagger."

I slide my hand into his, and it disappears into his warm, rough, steady grip. "Lainey."

"Lainey," he repeats, like he's testing the weight of it. "That's a name you don't forget."

"Neither is Jagger. Are your parents big Rolling Stones fans?"

Surprise flickers across his face. But he catches himself and retorts, "My mama says she named me after trouble, 'cause she took one look at me and knew exactly what she was in for."

Carla snorts into her glass. "Ruby definitely nailed it."

Jagger doesn't let go of my hand right away. "Are you always this quick with a stranger?"

"Only the ones who ask for it."

His grin spreads slowly, like he's got all night and nowhere better to be. "I like her," he tells Carla, without looking away from me.

Carla agrees, "Everybody likes her. She's likable. It's a whole personality trait."

"Is that right?" His thumb brushes once across my knuckles before he finally releases my hand, and I hate how much I notice the loss of it. "So, Lainey. First time at the Red Dirt?"