Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(68)

“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“I just got a phone call from Dalton. A very drunk Dalton. He’s at the Golden Boot and needs a ride home.”


Rory frowned. “Why would he call you in Arizona to give him a ride home in Wyoming?”



“He didn’t. And he didn’t let me speak. I’m thinking he meant to call you or Tell—since my name falls between yours and Tell’s in his phone.”


“Shit.”


“So go get ’em, sis.”


“I’m gonna kick his ass.” Rory slipped on her coat. “Dalton swore he doesn’t do this stuff anymore.”


“He doesn’t. So please don’t ream him.”


“I won’t. Unless he’s the drunken, belligerent Dalton I used to wanna punch in the face. Then all bets are off.”


“Rory—”


“I’m kidding.”


“If I remember correctly, you owe him a drunken ride home.”


“Don’t remind me.”


Sierra laughed. “But to really even things up, you’ve gotta sleep with him when he’s still slightly drunk and then be gone when he wakes up in the morning with a massive hangover.”


Not a bad idea. In fact, that was a great idea.


“I was kidding.” A pause. “No, you’re not seriously thinking of doing that, Rory.”


“Why not? He did it to me.” Twice. “See if he likes being used for sex and then discarded?” she volleyed back.


“Sista, please. Even back then it was more than sex between you and Dalton and you know it.” Sierra paused. “I think you both might’ve forgotten that there’s always been more between you two. Anyway, you aren’t a mean girl, a vindictive woman or a badass seeker of revenge.”


Her inner bad girl flipped Sierra off with both fingers and cranked up the Joan Jett tunes.


“But you aren’t a doormat either.” Sierra belted out the first three lines of I Will Survive and laughed hysterically.


“Thanks for nothing, little sis. Your pep talk sucked as much as your singing. And you still owe me a phone call where I can properly grill you for hours on boys, boozing and the rumors about the mysterious businesses you’re involved in.”


“Goddamned gossipy McKay family,” she grumbled. “Fine. I’ll call you next week. Later.” She hung up.


Rory had no idea what shape she’d find Dalton in when she reached the Golden Boot twenty minutes later. The parking lot was nearly full, forcing her to park at the far end of the lot.


The cold night air sliced through her as she walked around the corner to the front entrance. There he was, leaning against the building with his coat pulled up around his ears.


Dalton looked up at her approach. His smile…damn that smile of his. Even his drunken, lopsided grin was a sight to behold.


Kudos to herself for not morphing into a snarky bitch when she said, “Little too much liquid fun, McKay?” She jammed her hands in her pockets even when her fingers itched to smooth back his charmingly messy hair.


“My beautiful Rory. Thank you for comin’ to get me. I’m, ah, a little drunk.”


“I see that.” When she got closer she smelled it too. “You okay to walk or should I bring the car around?”


“Probably need to walk it off.” Dalton stepped away from the building and swayed.


“Whoa there, cowboy.” She grabbed his arm and draped it over her shoulder. “Lemme help you.”


His balance was way off so Rory half-pushed him and half-pulled him through the gravel parking lot to her Jeep. She propped him up on the passenger side wondering how she’d wrestle him in. But he climbed in as if he were perfectly sober.


“I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to end up this way. I hate bein’ drunk.”


She backed out of her parking spot. “So what were you doing at the bar tonight?”


“Reggie’s bachelor party.”


“You must’ve had a good time.”


“Nope. Saw a bunch of people I used to know. Most of ’em were getting drunk and acting stupid.”


“What about you?”


“I didn’t act stupid. Except for the leprechaun thing.”


What the f*ck? “Leprechaun?”


“Uh-huh. Leprechaun cocktail waitress. Think she was a stripper too.”


“Guess they’re hard up for chicks to strip in Wyoming if they’re hiring leprechauns,” she said dryly. Then she grinned. She was so going to lord this conversation over him. Maybe she’d even speak with a brogue. Dance an Irish jig while she served him Lucky Charms.


“They shoulda asked you to be a stripper,” Dalton slurred. “You’d make a great stripper.”


“Why would I want to be a stripper?”


“Because you’re flexible. But mostly because you’ve got the body for it. Goddamn do I love your body. I just wanna put my hands all over it. Then my mouth. Right now.”