But Callan’s different, and I’ve struck real fucking lucky here because instead of forgetting I have a face, he shows up with respect and a smile and makes you feel like you belong the second you step through the door. His kindness radiates like summer heat, warming everything it touches, but there’s a bite beneath the gentleness, an edge to him that sneaks up on you.
He never really loses his temper, but the one time I saw him snap, it was because of Violet. She’d stopped by the bar, just to say hi, and a group of out-of-town assholes thought it was open season. They circled her like vultures, throwing out crude comments, taking their cowboy hats off, and shoving them onto her head like that somehow made her theirs.
I saw the switch flip in Callan’s eyes from across the bar. One second, he was drying a glass, sleeves rolled to the elbows, forearms flexing beneath ink and sun-kissed skin. Next, he was cutting through the crowd like six feet of pure fury.
Violet can absolutely handle herself, but Callan’s timing wasperfect, considering she’d already wrapped her hand around a pool cue like it was her weapon of choice. She didn’t flinch when the guy in front of her invaded her space. She just stared him down like she was daring him to take one more step toward her.
But Callan didn’t wait for that step. He positioned himself in front of my sister like a wall, his body blocking hers completely as he unleashed hell. The guys muttered their apologies, tripping over each other on their way out, and the door slammed shut behind them.
For a second, I think even my sister was impressed. However, she’d probably bite off her own tongue before admitting it.
Callan is stupidly pretty in thatgod, you’re hot, and everyone knows itkind of way, but his older brother? Well, that man is a whole different breed.
Christian Crawford.
Hottest damn cowboy I’ve ever seen.
Eyes that could melt steel, and too much power packed into that body to be legal. He walks like sin in denim and talks like he could ruin you before breakfast and still have time to saddle a horse.
Every time he walks through that door, he ends up parked on the same stool, nursing his drink for hours while keeping me company like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Meanwhile, I’m left swooning behind the bar like some insta-lust trope come to life with a cowboy I can’t stop staring at.
Tonight, I’m wearing a black skirt that just about covers my ass and a fitted purple top that hugs every curve just right, and when I see him walk into the bar, all broad shoulders and wearing that hat, my stomach does a stupid little flip. Before I can even stop myself, I’m straightening up and lengthening my body to match his alpha energy with my own.
“Hey, darlin’. Is my brother around?” He has the kind of voice that makes even the good girls want to spread their legs.
“Nope. Callan’s got a date. He told me very specifically that he’s trusting me to lock up tonight as long as I call someone from here to my car.”
“Yeah, that sounds exactly like my brother.” When he laughs, thesound slides down my spine like warm honey, pooling low in my belly.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Whiskey neat, please, and a beer.” I turn away, hiding the giddy little dance my insides just did at that smile.
By the time I spin back around, I’ve got my shit together—or at least, I’ve slapped on the faux confidence of a woman who does.
Christian takes a seat as I set both drinks down, the glass meeting the bar with a soft clink.
“Are you expecting company?” I nod toward the beer.
“My son’s coming over.”
“I didn’t realize you had a son.” My eyes dart to his ring finger, triple-checking what I’ve already memorized like the thirsty bitch I am.
Still naked, thank God.
Not that it matters.
A man like Christian Crawford exists in a league so far above mine, we’re not even playing the same sport. Hell, we’re not even in the same damn universe, but I like to live in my little delulu world where a man like him would want to do some very dirty things to me.
“Travis… He lives in the next town over with his mom.”
Christian takes a slow sip of whiskey, and while I’m still reeling from this delicious new daddy development, one of the giggling women—pretty sure her name’s Daisy—sidles up beside him, fresh off her little detour from the Walker brothers’ table.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Christian. How you doing?”
“Good, thanks, Daze. You keeping well?”
He doesn’t look at her. He just keeps staring into the amber swirl like it’s far more interesting than whatever she’s offering.
