Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
I squinted at him. “That’s your idea of a Costco run? Bulk laundry detergent and a quick beej?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, if you want to stay in Legacy, there’s usually someone up for it at SERA. I just don’t like to fuck around with Trace’s guys too much in case people start talking.”
“And since you need ten pounds of almonds and a three-pack of mustard, might as well, right?”
The edge of his lip quirked up a little in his version of a wide smile. “Convenience comes in many forms, Alex. Don’t knock it.”
I watched him load the truck with his broad shoulders and big arms under a wash-faded cotton tee with a barely visible “Legacy Beef” logo on the back. My cousin was a catch. Fit and good-looking, an all-American rancher. Son of a famous country music star—though that part he kept as close to the vest as possible. It was one of the reasons he’d moved to Montana. To hide out on his ranch and work.
“Why don’t you date?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Don’t have the time.”
“Bullshit. You’re a multimillionaire. You could hire people to take some of that load off you in a minute. Tell me the real reason.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the bags of feed as he started a new stack in the bed of the pickup. “One too many people more interested in who my papa is than who I am.”
“Fair,” I said on a sigh. “I’m sorry for that. It’s bullshit.”
He shrugged again, but I could tell it was more serious than he let on. His older brother, Wolfe, didn’t date either, but we were all convinced it was for a different reason. Wolfe had been obsessed with his dad’s best friend, Trace, who also happened to be here in Legacy, for as long as anyone could remember.
“So back to hookups,” I said. “Can I find someone without the apps?”
Another shrug. “If you go to Billings and try to do it old-school, just remember what Uncle Beau says. You get what you get, and you don’t pitch a fit.” Then he looked over at me and winked. “Or stay local. It’s still tourist season enough. Just try and find someone who’s only in town for the night so if it sucks, you don’t have to see the guy the next day at Timber.”
I groaned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Fuck. I think I’ll try Billings.”
“Why don’t you let Ella fix you up? There’s a guy at work she’s always talking about. She knows a lot of the guys at SERA, too.”
“No, thanks. I don’t need my sister in my sexual business.”
Of course, Morris Watt walked by right as I said that. His bushy eyebrows lifted and dropped. “Mornin’, Mr. Watt,” I called, trying not to act guilty.
As soon as he got into his old truck and lumbered out of the lot, Lennon chuckled softly. “You act like you’re not allowed to have sex. You’re a grown-ass man, Alex. And you can’t seriously tell me you haven’t had sex in the three years you’ve lived here.”
Okay, so maybe I was more of a liar than I thought.
“No, pfft. Of course not. I just… You know. Various other… like… that time we went back to California for Christmas. Or, um, when we have… tourist visitors or whatever. You know? So.” Now it was my turn to shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like I was some kind of playboy.
Like I was Jett Marian.
Lennon nodded. “’S no different. Just find someone and make it happen. No big.”
Except… it was big. It was definitely big.
Two weeks later, I came across an excuse to travel up to Billings. A band I liked was playing live music at the Palomino, so I booked a hotel room close by and dressed as slutty as gay Montana could handle in a town known for its huge-ass refinery.
There were plenty of guys looking for connections, but I was way too nervous and definitely too sober when I first walked in. My plan was to catch a little buzz, listen to some music, and then get my flirt on in hopes of finding someone who wanted to kiss and grope a little in the bathroom or out back. Wasn’t sure I was exactly up for bringing anyone back to my hotel room, but I also knew that the chances of me not coming the minute another man glanced at my dick were slim to none.
“Hey, cutie, what can I getcha?” a bartender asked when it was my turn to order a drink. He was younger than I was, with two long braids twisted into buns on top of his head like panda ears. “We’re running two for one on Bud Light, or I’ve got a great local IPA…?”
“Vodka cranberry, please,” I said, flashing him a smile. “Thanks.”