Page 73 of Fever Dream
“A dingy cowboy vibe.”
He smirks. “No wonder you like it.”
“Wrong.” I hit with a sidelong glance. “I stay far away from cowboys of all types. Bull riders especially.”
“Listen, we’re not all as annoying as your brother.”
I chuckle and shake my head at him. “What I mean is that I’d rather not be a widow because the person I’m with has an adrenaline addiction that involves crawling up onto an angry bull for shits and giggles. The anxiety of having to watch my brother do it is bad enough.”
All the humor drains from his face. “Oh.”
He knows I’m talking about my dad.
“Yeah.Oh,” I echo, hoping to really draw a line in the sand before we go any further.
But Emmett must not get the memo because after a few beats of watching me with furrowed brows he leans back, settling into his chair and donning that signature smirk before he replies.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m set to retire after next season.”
I start at that tidbit of information. Not because he’s retiring—this sport doesn’t lend itself well to longevity. No, it’s what he’s insinuating that catches me off guard. He won’t be a bull rider anymore so we could…No.That can’t be what he means.
Flustered, I decide to switch the topic of conversation entirely.
“Is this really where you’d hang out, left to your own devices?”
Emmett doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes trace my features for a beat longer than necessary. “Depends on the company,” he replies cryptically.
“And what type of company am I?”
“The kind I can—”
But before I can squeeze the rest of the answer out of him, a server swings by to grab our drink order, and the line of questioning is lost entirely.
CHAPTER 22
Emmett
BE MYSELF AROUND.
That’s what I was going to say. Because there’s something about Julia that makes me want to let go a little bit. Ignore my hang-ups and rules and plans. To just… enjoy her.
And yet, relief courses through me as the waitress scribbles down my bourbon and Coke and turns to take Julia’s order. Her interruption saved me from myself. Because the last thing I need to do is tell Julia she’s the kind of company I can be myself around.
True as it may be.
If these past weeks have taught me anything, it’s that few people in the world know me well. And certainly, none of the women on the show. Hell, I don’t even know if any of them would humor me by walking into this bar.
Possibly Catherine—the prospect of socializing among the large, bearded men who rode in on the Harleys parked outside, who may or may not be operating outside the law, would enthrall her.
“Just a Sprite is good for me.” Julia smiles at the waitress, and I tilt my head at her.
That dress is criminal, but the way she piled her curls on her head to show off the curve of her neck is a fucking felony.
“You making me drink by myself, doll?”
One slender shoulder lifts, and I imagine hooking my finger under the strap that rests across her collarbone.
“Haven’t been big on drinking lately.”
