Nodding, they murmur, “He’s cool.”
“And hot,” I add again.
“Definitely hot.” I watch in my periphery as they lock their phone and set it on their lap, glancing over at me. “Segan’s looking hot as hell too.”
A noise eerily similar to a growl claws its way up at my throat, making Ash cackle.
“Calm down, killer. I’m just saying. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course, I agree,” I grunt. “He always looks good.”
“Tonight at his house should be interesting,” Ash muses.
“You got that right,” I mutter.
* * *
“The sky is so fuckingclear out here.”
I’m lying in a lime green lawn chair, staring up at the night sky, Segan to my left, nobody on my right, and Voss beside him. We have a near-empty bottle of whiskey—and I was right earlier, it was Smoky Boy brand that we’re passing back and forth as we shoot the shit.
My phone’s inside, and I have no clue what time it is, but I know we’ve been here for at least several hours. Shooter and his friend, another bronc rider, Copeland, passed out a little while ago, and I honestly don’t know where Ash and Wade are. They disappeared around the time the fire died, and we brought the lawn chairs out here.
They’ve been flirting back and forth since we got here, and it’s fucking adorable.
“Isn’t it?” Segan drawls, bringing the bottle up to his tempting fucking lips and taking a sip. “It’s one of my favorite things about living here.”
“It’s like every star in the sky is on display,” I reply in awe. “You just don’t get to see all this in the city.”
“I know. And it’s so quiet out here. Another thing you don’t get in the city.”
“Where’d you live when you first moved here?” I want to know any and everything there is to know about Segan since we left each other’s lives. The fact that he left Utah on his own, and made this extraordinary life for himself is fascinating to me, and it makes me so proud.
Sure, I left Utah and did basically the same thing, but it feels different. He became a household name, leaving his demons behind, and that’s so fucking special to me.
“Right in downtown,” he replies, the slur in his words letting me know he’s as toasty as I feel. “I lived in the apartment right above the Neon Dreams Saloon.”
Turning my head, I meet his gaze, my eyes long since adjusted to the darkness. “No shit?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I did. It was fun, honestly. I wouldn’t want to live in that area ever again, but while I was there, it was a blast. There was always something going on.”
“That’s how it was for me in Nevada.” He hands me the bottle, and I take a swig. “I was so close to Vegas, there was never a shortage of shit to do.”
Voss chimes in. “What was your guys’ hometown like?”
“Dull,” I blurt out.
Segan laughs. “So fucking dull.”
“What about you, Voss?” I ask, leaning forward so I can see him on the other side of Segan. “Where are you from?”
As soon as we got back here from the rodeo, he changed into a pair of blue board shorts and a white tank top. He’s lounging in that chair, one of his legs bent at the knee, the other lying flat, looking relaxed as fuck.
Scrubbing a hand down his face, he replies, “A small town in Wyoming called Copper Lake. It’s right outside of Cheyenne. It’s all farmers and cowboys.”
“Did you like living there?”
He nods. “Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with it, but I knew if I ever wanted to make a name for myself in the music industry, it’d never be there.”
