Bucking the Rules(36)

Morgan gave Trace a handshake. “I still can’t get used to seeing you back here all the time.”

“Just like high school,” Trace said.

“Yeah. High school.” Morgan grinned foolishly, then gave Seth a tweak under the chin. “Except I don’t think this guy would have quite fit in with our crew.”

“Little too young to go keggin’ and silo climbing.”

Peyton waved from the table. “Morgan, if you’re done playing Remember When with Trace, I have a few—”

“Morgan!” Bea called from across Peyton. “You can solve a little argument we’re having here.”

“Sure thing.” His attention was immediately riveted to Bea.

Bea leaned to the side and held up one leg straight in the air, looking like a ballerina stretching before a routine. The skinny jean tapered at the ankle, showcasing a pair of killer high heel sandal things with so many straps Trace wondered how long it took to actually put the shoe on. “Are these jeans?”

Morgan looked like he wanted to pass out. He nodded dumbly.

Peyton rolled her eyes and gagged a little to the side.

Bea shot him a dazzling toothpaste-ad smile. “Thank you, sweetie. I appreciate a man who understands these things. Really, I just appreciate anyone who agrees with me.”

Morgan nodded again, then sat down with a thump when Peyton grabbed his wrist and tugged.

Trace could see “lovelorn” written all over his old friend’s face. He debated for a moment taking Morgan aside and warning him off—not for Bea’s sake, but for his friend’s. Bea would chew him up and spit him out like he was a piece of fat on one of Emma’s chicken thighs.

But some things a man just had to figure out for himself. And hell, who was he to lecture anyone about getting in over your head with a woman? Wasn’t he the one planning on using his next night off to go catch Jo in bed again?

The woman who would rather call him cowboy than by his name.

He shook his head in self-disgust and headed for the stairs.

“Little man, when you’re old enough, I’m gonna write you a manual about women. We’ll just call it a survival guide.”





“You look like shit.”

Jo flipped Stu the bird and poured herself a Coke. Three cups of coffee hadn’t done a damn thing for her, so maybe a different form of caffeine would do her some good. The first sip had her gagging. Too sweet for the morning.

She would commit several different kinds of felonies to get a good espresso in town. Despite her own efforts, she’d never fully mastered the art of making a good jolt herself. No point buying her own beans and grinder if she couldn’t even produce results worthy of the time and effort.

But on days like today, the added punch would have been more than welcome. Hell, she would have just chewed straight espresso beans if they would have helped.

Her lips twitched as she remembered exactly why she was so exhausted. And his name was Trace.

Mentally, she wanted to cross his name out and insert “cowboy.” Make it less personal. But something about the way he’d commanded her to use his name in bed had it sticking.

Damn it. Either that was the most interesting trick of the subconscious ever, or he was a sneaky bastard.

She wouldn’t rule out either until she’d had more time to think about it.

“Wanna tell Stu all your troubles?” The cook sat down at the bar in front of her and motioned for her to serve up a Coke.

“Hardly. I think we’ll just keep what goes on upstairs separate from what goes on down here.”

Stu snorted before taking his first sip. “Sure. Right. Let me know how that goes. If whatever kept you up was actually a who, it’ll get around. Sooner or later, it always does.”

As he disappeared back into the kitchen, Jo drummed her fingers on the counter. It didn’t have to get around. Not if they were careful. If Trace waited until after all the customers and servers were gone for the night, then slipped into her place and back out again …

Wait. Was she considering a full-on affair? Not just writing it off as a one-night thing. How very unlike her….

But when the sex was as good as it had been … how could she blame herself for running in that direction full force?

Her servers trickled in one by one, smiling and waving. Of course, Amanda couldn’t ignore the chance to shoot the breeze. She wandered over after clocking in, tying her server apron around her waist.

“You look like hell. What’s up?”

Jo threw her hands in the air and let her forehead fall to the bar top. After a few quick raps on the wood, she sat up. “Why am I surrounded by people who care when I look like hell?”

“Because we love you, naturally.” Amanda grabbed a dish tub of clean silverware and sat across from her to roll napkins. “Something wrong?”