3. Red

Denny has to shut one eye to drunkenly focus on what I'm saying. I don't understand my best friend's method, but he swears it helps him hear better. Though I've told him about having sex with Cass three times on the walk back to the truck, and he's still struggling to make sense of it. I'm not convinced the fourth time's the charm.

"You. As in… you"—his index finger draws a sloppy circle around my face—"hooked up with Cassidy Bowman? Nah, I don't buy it. I've never heard of her sleeping with anybody. She's definitely too much of a good girl to hook up with you."

He climbs into the box of my pickup, and I hand him our sleeping bags. The biggest downside to living out at the ranch is that somebody either needs to buck up and be the designated driver, or we sleep in the truck bed. Tonight, it's the latter. No fancy driving apps available in a tiny town like Wells Canyon. There's technically one taxi, but the driver is drunk off his ass anytime after seven p.m. and too hungover to drive before ten a.m. Not to mention, I'd hate to see what he'd charge to take us that far—too rich for my blood.

"Give me one reason why I would lie about this shit." I smack him with my sleeping bag before unrolling it. As soon as my boots are off, I slip into the extremely uncomfortable makeshift bed. This was tolerable a decade ago… Now I'm fully aware my thirty-three-year-old ass is going to wake up with a stiff neck and pounding headache.

"Okayyyy. How the hell did this happen then?" Denny wiggles down into his sleeping bag, sending a tremor through the entire truck box. "Why did it happen? You know if Dave finds out, we'll be fucked. We'll be banned from the bar and be forced to drive to Sheridan to drink. I love you, but I'll be real pissed if that happens."

"Why would he find out?"

"Dunno. He and Cass are pretty close, though."

"You think she's telling her dad about every guy she fucks? Who does that? I swear, man, some of the things you say—were you dropped as a baby? Drop-kicked, maybe?"

"I've fallen off my fair share of unbroken animals. Hit my head a few times—is what it is. Anyway, why and how did you and her become a thing?"

I drag a palm down my face, stopping briefly on my chin to stroke the coarse stubble, which was soaked with her cum a few hours ago. "She wanted to get back at her shitty ex-boyfriend for cheating on her, so I fucked her on the hood of his car. She scratched the shit out of it with her boots, too."

He shoots up, suddenly invested in the story. There's a slight wobble as he sits there, although it could be me who's wobbling. The world does seem to be spinning faster than usual.

"No shit. Did you stick around to see his reaction?" Denny asks.

"Fuck no. Shit got awkward immediately after, and she went home. I had some more drinks, played a round of lawn darts, and now I'm here."

"Cool, cool, cool. We're totally not allowed back at The Horseshoe. You had to be an awkward motherfucker, and now Cass is gonna barricade the door."

I let out a long exhale, knowing he could very well be right. At the same moment my brain was exploding with thoughts of fucking Cass over and over again, she was obviously having an entirely different post-orgasm experience. She was right—I'm a douchebag. After a lifetime of daydreams about her, I was too lost in reliving the way her pussy fit me, the way her body reacted to my touch, and the feel of her hands on my skin to notice her leaving until it was too late to stop her.

A week later, it's the moment of truth. I haven't talked to Cass since the rodeo because that was the deal. We're never going to talk about what happened between us again. If only I could find a way to quit thinking about it.

Denny flings open the double doors with a dramatic display. "Guess you didn't fuck it up too bad."

I knew she wouldn't actually lock us out. Doing that would mean admitting something happened between us.

No, instead she's perfectly normal. As if I haven't been balls deep inside her or watched her eyes roll back as she came on my cock. I know I was drunk that night, but I was coherent enough to know we had amazing sex. It wasn't all in my head. I would die of alcohol poisoning before being too intoxicated to remember how it felt to have her. Her smell, her taste, her sounds. No amount of drinking could make me forget her coming on my face like a goddamn porn star. It was the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

"Hey, boys." She sets down six mugs of beer before we've even settled into our seats, predicting exactly what time we'd arrive and what we'd want without fail. We're in our usual spot against the back wall—just far enough away from the dance floor that annoying drunk girls don't ask us to dance, but close enough we can check them out.

"Cass, have I told you before how much I appreciate being allowed in this fine establishment?" Genuinely meaning every word, Denny grabs hold of her forearm as she leans across the table to hand Colt a beer.

"Okay, how many road pops did you chug on the drive here?" she asks with a laugh, but her eyes cut to me, brutally slicing through my flesh. The only reason she isn't literally cutting me is because her dad, Dave, is twenty feet away and there'd be a lot of explaining to do.

She walks away, hair flowing behind her, and I stare without shame. I've always known she's gorgeous, but she also wasn't an option. Cassidy Bowman is so far out of my league, but I've tortured myself for years watching her from afar. Even in high school, she was pretty, had a huge group of friends, got perfect grades… entirely fucking untouchable for someone like me.

Until the night she wasn't.

The sight of Cass from across the busy bar quenches my thirst better than any amount of four-dollar beer, and I let myself drink her in. Everything from the golden waves bouncing on her shoulders to the perfectly heart-shaped ass in tight, wet-dream-worthy denim. I soak up her juicy, thick curves—tits barely contained by the low cut of her shirt and hips I want to sink my teeth into. I like that she's not stick thin; I could grab and bite and rough her up without worrying about breaking her.

With my brain stuck in an unending loop of fantasies about her, the hours fly by. Until it's sometime after midnight, and I've lost count how many beers deep I am. It's Cassidy's fault. Both for looking so good I had to keep bringing her back to the table—even though she all but ignored me—and for not cutting me off.

Stumbling to the bathroom, my fingers drag along the hallway's textured wallpaper. My knees threaten to buckle when a bass drop rattles through the old floorboards. This is the problem with staying here past midnight. The classic country music switches to dance party garbage right around the same time I become too drunk to tolerate the kind of crowd that likes this noise. I push through the cheesy saloon-style bathroom door and firmly hold a palm to the wall above the urinal.

I'm stuck somewhere between needing to take a deep breath to stop from gagging and knowing the smell of piss and urinal pucks will make me hurl. So I breathe strictly through my mouth and pee as fast as humanly possible.

"Hey man, we're getting ready to head out." Colt drums his fingers on the door frame.

"Yeah, give me a minute," I reply, zipping my fly as I stumble toward the trough-style sink to wash my hands.

A splash of cold water on my face helps snap me out of it. I don't vomit when I drink—I do a lot of other dumb shit, but I can hold my liquor. After a forceful exhale and a few blinks to clear my blurred vision, I stroll back out to the bar floor.

I turn the corner just in time to see some drunk dipshit grope Cassidy's plump ass. She turns like she's going to slap him, and I can't fucking wait to watch her ruin this man's life. But, to my horror, he's hit with nothing more than a scowl and a few words I can't make out.

That won't be enough to teach him a lesson.

I see red.

The deep red haze washes over me, glossing my eyes and itching the lizard part of my brain that wants to throw the punch, and worry about consequences later. I guess I hit him. Probably even a few times. It's hard to tell when you're in a black out state. Between my heartbeat pounding in my skull and the obnoxiously loud electronica music, I can't hear anybody around me. The ass-grabbing pervert hits back and, while I'm sure I'll feel it when I come down from the adrenaline rush, I don't even wince at his fist making contact with my jaw. My brain shuts down, and I'm swinging, going through the motions until I'm snapped out of it by Denny and Colt grabbing my shoulders to haul me away from the scrap.

"Get the fuck out of here before you're all banned." Cassidy's voice rings out over the commotion happening in my head. Then, most likely directed at me, she adds, "Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me?" I shout. "Fuck is wrong with thatguy?" I point and glare at the ugly, pervy motherfucker nursing his tender jaw.

Cass follows us out the front doors, leaving Dave behind the bar shaking his head. He's not even phased. Fights are a regular enough occurrence, and it's not uncommon for me to be involved in one way or another. At least I have that on my side. If he suspected I was trying to defend his daughter for any reason other than enjoying a good scrap, I'd be a dead man.

"Let me have a word with him," Cass snaps at the rest of the crew.

Unsurprisingly, they back off immediately, moving to linger by the tailgate of a truck a few stalls over.

"Are you trying to accomplish something by showing up here acting jealous and possessive? Jesus Christ." She combs a hand through her hair, dropping her voice to barely more than a whisper. "We hooked up once and it will never happen again. We were drunk and made a stupid decision—nothing more. Pull this white knight shit one more time, and you won't be allowed back here."

"So I'm supposed to let—"

She cuts me off with a sneer. "You're supposed to ignore me like usual. Treat me like I'm any random server at a bar. Let me deal with the assholes."

Easier said than fucking done. I've never ignored her. I've paid more attention to Cassidy than I can ever admit. Have since the day I met the sassy six-year-old version of her on the playground over twenty years ago. Maybe I've made it seem like I don't see her, but we wouldn't have hooked up in the first place if I usually ignored her.

She sighs, turning to walk back inside. "Go fuck somebody else and forget about me, please."