Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
He snorted. “No.” With a sigh, he poked the ice in his glass with a cocktail straw. “I came to Vegas to stop a wedding. Failed.”
“Oh shit, man. Who? Your girl… boyfriend?” I winced, not sure what language to use. “My best friend is gay, so that’s cool…” I clamped my mouth closed. Shut up, asshole.
“Ex-boyfriend,” he said with a laugh. “And yeah. Thanks for the blessing.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “But wait. You were trying to stop your ex from marrying someone else? That sucks.” Honestly, it seemed in my whiskey-soaked brain it sucked more for the guy whose ex was trying to ruin his wedding, but I didn’t say that.
“Not for the reason you think,” he said with amusement clear in his voice. “I didn’t want to be the one at the altar. I’m not the marrying type. I was trying to save the man’s bride from marrying an asshole.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Justin’s gay, but he was marrying this woman for her money. I tried to warn her.” He shrugged and sipped his drink. “Turns out she’s just as much of a snake as he is, so I guess they deserve each other. They got married. Whatever. It’s none of my business. People are users. At some point, I’ll learn this lesson, but today was not that day.”
I reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry, man. That really does suck.” My hand stayed on his shoulder, noticing how muscular it was beneath the thin cotton of his button-down. I quickly removed it and fussed with the brim of my hat again. “So, uh… misery loves company? I guess?”
His eyes met mine and stayed for a moment. I couldn’t look away. There was something about him, even in my half-drunken haze, that made me want to stay with him, keep talking to him, keep hearing his soothing voice and inhaling that intriguing scent.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw the string of texts that had been coming in for the past few hours. Everything from a neighbor’s complaint about a fence that needed patching, to my sister wanting an update on the Eden situation, to the sheriff’s nosy-ass inquiries into my personal business. I made a disgruntled noise in my throat and turned the damned thing off.
“I feel you on that,” the guy next to me said. “Turned mine off an hour ago, and that’s pretty unprecedented for me.”
“Same,” I admitted glumly. “Gonna have a lot of explaining to do when I get home.”
He studied me for a beat. “You want to dance, cowboy?” His lips widened in a lazy grin.
My stomach turned over and popped with fizzy excitement. I opened my mouth to reiterate I was straight. To remind him I didn’t know how to dance to this kind of music. To let him down as gently as all the women who’d come before him. But instead of a No, thanks, I blurted, “I’m Way. Waylon. Fletcher.”
His grin widened and made his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Nice to meet you, Waylon Fletcher. I’m Silas Concannon.”
When he stood and held out his hand, I’d had just enough liquor to take it.
It took me a while to find any kind of rhythm on the dance floor, but in my hazy, drink-drunk mind, I felt like maybe I was made to dance like this. Silas felt so damned good in my arms. Strong and solid. I didn’t worry about accidentally touching him in the wrong place or making him uncomfortable. He knew I wasn’t into men, so it wasn’t like I was going to try to cop a feel. We’d already agreed there’d be no casual encounter between us.
It was nice. Like if I’d ever been allowed to hold one of my brothers or friends this way. Comforting, and… okay, maybe in this particular case a little… exciting? For some reason. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because of the beautiful women all around us. Maybe because of the way Silas’s intense gaze seemed locked on me. Or maybe simply because of the sheer amount of alcohol I’d had.
I leaned my face into his neck to inhale. He smelled damned good. Like, summer flowers and fresh hay good. If you’d asked me how I thought citified corporate type would smell, it wouldn’t have been like home.
Silas let out a languid laugh. “Thanks. You smell good, too. It’s making me fucking crazy.”
I closed my eyes. Had I actually said that out loud? Fuck, I needed to go. I needed to call it a night.
Instead, I found myself blurting, “Why’d you say you’re not the marrying type?”
“Not looking for a picket fence like you are, cowboy,” he teased, moving a hand up my chest and pressing a finger inside the edge of my collar. My stomach tightened.
“That’s not… I don’t…”
His eyes squinted with his laugh. “You’ve got Mr. Perfect Life written all over you. Gonna find some prairie princess and settle down. Have two-point-five fillies and rope you a nice future in a white farmhouse. How’bout that?”