she had said huh mean that her friend was dumbstruck by her choice of boyfriend? If so, maybe this wasn’t such a mistake after all.
“You guys have an interesting...” Jazz twisted her ponytail around her finger as she considered how to finish her sentence. Instead of finishing, she opted to change the subject. “How long have you been together?”
“Oh,” Ashley said, swiping her hand across her lips, intent on removing any lingering bit of Colton Cross from her mouth. “Not long.” Only the understatement of the century. “I doubt it’ll last.”
Beth snorted.
“Why do you say that?” Jazz asked.
Ashley turned to pour some drinks. Over her shoulder she said, “We’re too different.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “We want different things. We have different philosophies on life. You know, the kind of thing that makes a long-term relationship impossible.”
For the first time that evening, Jasmine’s bubble of happiness wavered. She blinked at Ashley, a serious expression stealing over her features as Ash slid filled glasses to Jazz. “So then...” Her friend passed the pints of draft to the patrons waiting. “Why?”
Sticking her head between them, Beth answered for Ash. “Because the sex is so damn hot, she can’t keep her hands off of him.”
And for the millionth time, Ashley wished she was an only child.
Thankfully a rush of customers made it difficult to talk about the subject of her fake boyfriend anymore, and when the nachos were ready, fifteen minutes later, Ashley took them herself to the end of the bar where Colton was surrounded by his buddies.
“Here you go,” she said, sliding the platter close before turning to go.
“Hold on a sec.” He grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.
Ash’s automatic response was to tug, but Colton was stupidly strong. “What?”
The sinful grin, that all the women in Half Moon were talking about, flashed across his face. “I’m of a mind to collect.”
“Collect what?”
“A couple more kisses.”
After a glance over her shoulder to see if Jasmine was watching—which she was—and then a glance over his to see if his friends were watching—which they were—Ash went up on tiptoes, placed her free hand on Colton’s broad shoulder and whispered in his ear, “No.”
This did not deter him. He released her hand only so he could slip his arm around her waist and pull her in tight against him. “If you were my real girlfriend, we’d be kissing right now,” he said in a low voice, just for her. Then he waited to see what her response was to that.
She wedged a hand up between them, placing her palm flat against his chest—was it normal to have such hard muscles hiding behind a button-up shirt? No. She didn’t think so—and pushed. There was no give whatsoever. “But I’m not your girlfriend. We’re just pretending. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember. But you want to put on a show.” With a tilt of his chin, he indicated Jasmine. “So let’s put on a show.”
“How’d you know?”
Using his knuckles beneath her chin, he tilted her head up. “There’s only one reason a woman wants a fake boyfriend.” He ducked down so that he was a mere inch away from her mouth. His warm breath made the wisps of hair that inevitably escaped the ponytail holder tickle her cheeks.
“What’s that?” There was way too much breathiness in her whisper for her liking.
“To make her friends jealous.” He waited a half second, his eyes glued to hers. When she didn’t move, didn’t shove, didn’t object in any way, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
This was not the kiss she’d expected. She’d expected something for show, him bending her over the bar, making slurping noises as he pretended to make out with a passion he didn’t feel.
That was not what this was. This was slow. Leisurely. Like he enjoyed getting to know her mouth. Like he wanted to explore her lips, the inside and outside of them. Not to mention deep inside her mouth. His big hand cupped the back of her head, and he tilted her—gently—one way and then the other, as he slanted his mouth over hers. When he finally pulled away, she was left, lips parted, panting.
“That ought to do it.”
She blinked once, twice, three times before coming back to herself, suddenly cluing in to the fact that the whistles and catcalls were because of the show they’d put on.
Oh, shit.
What had she done?
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL was that?” Colton’s brother, Dillon, asked, giving him a dirty look.
“You’re married. You should know what a kiss looks like.”
Dillon arched a brow.
“Or, is that what happens once you knock ’em up? No more face sucking?”
With arms crossed over his chest, like he meant to intimidate him, Dillon said, “Don’t be an ass. That was Beth Ozark’s sister. The sweet one. Definitely not your type.” He glanced over his shoulder, then indicated that direction with his chin. “Seems to me if you want a plaything, Brandi’s more your speed.”
Colton shifted to get a look at the other sister. Short skirt, tight top, nice hair, pouty lips. Their eyes met, and she gave him a dark, questioning look. Colton lifted his pint in salute.
And drank.
What was everyone’s problem? So, he kissed a girl. Big fucking deal. It wasn’t like he’d started it. He took another deep drink of his beer, finishing half, thinking about the kiss. The sister had tasted good. Fresh. Not fresh as in innocent, because she’d kissed him back like she’d done it plenty of times before. Done it, enjoyed it and meant to do it again.
He meant fresh, as in the way the grass smelled after a spring storm.
So why was everyone giving him a hard time?
“Nachos are on me,” he said, indicating the platter with a wave of his glass. “Actually, the whole tab’s on me.”
“What’s up with you?” Angus, a friend and rival bull rider from Billings, asked. “You worried you’re going to lose in the ring this weekend and feel like making good on our bet early?”
“Naw,” Colton said. “This is the last nice thing I do before I kick your scrawny ass this weekend.”
A combination of laughter and groans followed by five hungry guys, demolishing a plate of chips, cheese, salsa and hot peppers. “But I’m cutting you off in a half hour. I don’t need a bunch of sorry-assed, hung-over rodeo clowns blaming your shitty rides on me tomorrow.”
“You talk
