7
Rhett
Kip:Talked to the rest of your sponsors today. A couple were undecided on what they’re going to do. But Wrangler and Ariat are still on...so long as you keep your shit together.
Kip:Hello? You going to thank me?
Rhett:Nope.
Kip:I know you love me.
Rhett:I don’t. You sicced an attack dog on me. Your princess is a real ball-buster.
Kip: Good. Your balls could use some busting.
* * *
I’m in the middle of recounting one of my most recent rides, something I actually like talking about, when a glass slides in front of my spot at the table.
My eyes snap up to little Bailey Jansen, nibbling on her lip with rosy cheeks. “This is from your future wife.” I rear back at that. “She says she knows it’s your favorite.” Bailey can barely get the words out.
I do some mental gymnastics as I glance around the table, but everyone here seems equally confused as I feel. The few men here are chuckling, but the girls range from looking confused to downright feral.
If one of them was smiling at me, I’d know it was her.
When I take a proper look at the drink, I’m even more confused.
“What is this?”
“It’s...um...a White Russian?”
My brows knit together as I stare down at the milky drink, threads of dark liquor pulling up from the bottom. What the fuck?
“Enjoy!” Bailey squeaks before peeling away. If I didn’t know she was the only good Jansen of the entire group, I’d suspect her. But the only thing I suspect is that someone else has put her up to this.
My first guess is Beau.
My eyes scan the bar for him as Laura, someone I’ve known in passing since high school, tries to flag down a server like this milky umbrella drink is an affront to my masculinity. There’s even a fucking maraschino cherry on top—plump and bright. And as I stare at it, I’m reminded of Summer’s mouth.
I ditched her and didn’t think twice about it when we got here. Not my finest moment. And definitely not a gentlemanly way to welcome her to town. I swivel on my stool, trying to see where she landed.
When I finally find her, she looks deep in conversation with my brother and his friend. They all seem relaxed, and oblivious to whatever this stunt is here. So, I rule them out. Though my eyes linger. She’s talking, and those fuckers are hanging on every word like she’s the most interesting person in the world.
And truth be told, if I wasn’t so miffed about this whole thing, I might be interested in talking to her more. She does seem interesting. There’s something intriguing about her. The way she looks, the way she talks, her confidence and spunk.
Summer Hamilton is an unusual combination.
“Excuse me, Rhett would never drink something like this.” I almost scoff out loud. The way Laura is talking like she knows me grates on my nerves.
Someone promptly takes away the drink and replaces it with a bottle of local brew. Something I like.
But within minutes, Bailey is back, looking like she’d rather run out the front door than face our table again.
“Your future wife sent this over. She said she knows how much you love chocolate milkshakes.” Then she darts away while I stare down at the creamy brown drink in a long-stem martini glass.
With an umbrella and cherry again.
These cherries are going to be the death of me. Somehow, my brain has connected them to the lipstick Summer wears, and the color isn’t even that similar. But it’s going there anyway.