Her mouth curves into this soft, unguarded smile—wide and real, lighting up her whole face—and it damn near knocks the wind out of me. wearing a little black top, the neckline dips just enough to mess with my focus, and those jeans?Fuck those jeans. Those jeans could get a man arrested for the thoughts they stir.
Makes me want to start a bar fight just to work off the tension.
They slide into the seat across from me. Mia’s laughing at something Lily said, head tilted back, throat exposed—and I swear to God, I feel it in mybones. The kind of laugh that makes something in me ache to worship and wreck her all at once …and I can’t fuckingstop staring.
“You gonna burn a hole through her or just go ask her to dance?” Mason mutters, sliding in beside me with a smirk.
I take a long sip of my beer. “Not now.”
Mason raises an eyebrow. “Grant, you’re starin’ at her like she’s the last glass of water in a drought.”
“I am not.” The words sounding weak to my own ears.
He snorts. “Your mouth’s actually hangin’ open, man.”
I snap it shut.
Dragging my hand across the back of my neck, which feels hot enough to fry an egg.
Across the table, Christian raises a brow, clocking me, then shares a silent laugh with Lily. She mouths something that looks suspiciously liketwo days, max.
They think this is funny.
It isn’t.
It’s torture.
Because watching her in that top, in those jeans, moving with that easy, city-girl confidence while surrounded by this wild, dusty world—myworld—is like watching lightning walk into a barn full of dry hay.
I’m a grown-ass man with calluses, scars, and covered in dirt most days—but when she moves, I feel like a damn teenager again. Stiff in all the wrong places, imagining her thighs around me, her breath on my neck, that pretty mouth letting out those soft little sounds like she did that night.
I shift in my seat, trying to look casual, but the pressure in my jeans says otherwise.
Then she stands.
“I need to dance before one of you country boys talks me into riding that bull,” she says with a laugh, gesturing to the mechanical bull in the corner while she grabs Lily and Annie’s hands, dragging them up from the booth.
I nearly choke on my drink, and just like that, my lizard brain goes:
“Oh look, I see you’re already sporting a monster boner there son…you know what would really be fun right now—chucking the filthiest and most elicit thoughts of her riding a bull in vivid technic color at you.”
Because in a blink, I’m not sitting in the booth anymore.
Oh no, I’m seeing her—Mia—straddling that mechanical bull.
Her jeans riding up in all the right places as she swings one long, perfect leg over the saddle.
Her top riding higher with every bounce, clinging to her curves, inching up just enough to tease a glimpse of her bare skin that makes my mouth go dry. She throws her head back mid-ride, hair loose and wild, braid unravelling, chest rising and falling like she’s breathless…
Lips parted.
Cheeks flushed.
A soft moan catching in her throat as her body rolls with every movement.
F-Fuck.
My jaw tightens so hard my molars grind. My fingers curl around my glass. Blood rushes south so fast I have to shift in my seat like it’ll help.
