Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Christ, Mollie looks hot as all get-out. She’s wearing a sequined shirt and the tiniest denim skirt I think I’ve ever seen, along with a pair of cowboy boots. She has her hair in a ponytail, and she’s wearing big-ass earrings that are ridiculous but somehow work on her.
My blood pumps overtime when her eyes catch on mine. She immediately smiles. “Cash! Hey!”
The band’s bassline vibrates inside my chest as she and Slick approach. I notice he doesn’t touch her. No hand on her waist, her back. Her nape.
She were mine, I’d have my hands all over her. Everyone would know she was taken. And she’d know just how much I wanted her.
Fuck.
Fuck me, I don’t just have a crush on Mollie. I don’t just want to sleep with her.
I want all of her. And I can’t deny anymore that I want to be that guy for her. The one she dances with. Who protects her from scumbags like Roddy and Slick here.
The one who shows her what a true partner could and should be.
I can be that man, Mollie, if you’d let me.
I can’t shake the feeling that she and this guy are more than friends. Maybe it’s the way his beady little eyes lock on me and narrow.
Pushing off the bar, I grab my beer and paste on a smile. “Hey, Mollie.”
“I was hoping y’all would be here. Cash, Wyatt, meet Palmer. Cash is the cowboy I was telling you about—our foreman. Wyatt’s his brother.” She gestures to Slick. “Palmer is visiting from Dallas.”
Wyatt cuts me a glance before he holds out his hand. “Welcome to Hartsville, Palmer.”
“Happy to be here.” Palmer takes my brother’s hand. “Quite the operation y’all got over at the ranch. Mollie gave me a little tour this afternoon.”
That all she give you?
I don’t realize I’m holding my beer in a death grip until Palmer is holding his hand out to me. I let an awkward beat of silence pass before I finally take it.
“You here for the weekend?” I ask. I don’t wanna engage this douche in conversation, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I suddenly need to know who Palmer is to Mollie, exactly, and how long he plans to stay.
Palmer glances at Mollie. “For a day or two, yeah.”
A day or two? And is that disappointment I see flicker across Mollie’s face?
I fucking hate this guy.
Wyatt was wrong. I can still be stupid. I’m being stupid right now, hating someone I don’t even know.
But when I try to rein in that hatred, all I feel is, well, more hatred. So I let it ride.
“Y’all are friends,” I say slowly.
Mollie smiles at Tallulah as she takes two longnecks out of the bartender’s hands. “Thank you, Tallulah. And, yeah, Palmer and I met back in college. Then we ran into each other a few years later in Dallas and…reconnected.”
I flick my eyes over his clothes. “What do you do there?”
“I’m a trader.” He sips his beer and looks over at the dance floor, apparently oblivious to my seething hatred and Mollie’s presence. “Commodities.”
“So you bet on the shit we grow out here in the country to go down in price.”
Palmer shrugs. “Sometimes, sure.”
Mollie looks at me. I look back. Him, really?
In reply, she loops her arm through his, sending a spasm of rage—jealousy, more like it—through my middle.
“Palmer, let’s go check out the band. They’re awesome. The drummer is our cook, and the backup singer is our vet.”
“Cute,” Palmer says. “Let’s do it.”
I pretend to busy myself with my beer, but I can’t stop sneaking glances at the two of them on the dance floor. He’s got his hands on her now, Mollie swaying in time to a Chris Stapleton cover. She turns to Palmer, and he spins her around. She smiles.
An ache takes root in the pit of my stomach.
This time last week, I was the guy twirling her around the dance floor.
I was the guy she was smiling at.
I do not like seeing her smile at someone else. Not one fucking bit.
They dance, and I drink.
Then Slick bumps into the girls dancing behind them. Instead of continuing to dance with Mollie, he turns around and starts talking to them. They’re the Hager girls, a pair of award-winning barrel racers.
They’re pretty—a fact Palmer seems to take note of.
The ache in my center builds as I watch Mollie politely engage them in conversation alongside Palmer. The band is between songs, so I can just barely hear them talking.
A new song starts, and Mollie tries to pull Palmer away.
He doesn’t budge. He’s smiling at the Hagers, babbling on like he isn’t making the most beautiful woman on earth wait. A shadow moves across Mollie’s eyes.
I’ve never wanted to burn anything down. But I’d burn down this whole town if it meant never seeing that look in her eyes again.