The Bluff (Love Stories in Sheet Cake, Texas, #2)

by Emma St. Clair

Winchester Boyd is a hangnail on my soul. The current bane of my existence. And as of today at nine a.m., my employee. I glance at my watch. Nine-oh-one. I heave a sigh. Winnie says nothing, and I continue pretending she isn’t there, even as every cell in my body seems to have swung her way like tiny, malfunctioning satellites. Being around her is like being massaged with rough-grit sandpaper.

I have to say it? It’s surprising to find humor underneath the grumpy demeanor. The boots. The whole—everything. You’re the living embodiment of a fictional bad boy, ready to steal hearts and make ovaries explode.”

DeltaDeltaDelta Or maybe you could cuddle with one of the Graham brothers while drinking a beer? I’d pay for that. The_Real_Shell-E I second that suggestion! Beer + cuddling with a Graham brother (or their dad!!!!) = best business idea EVER Neighborly Mod The comments on this thread have been closed due to inappropriate content. Neighborly does not support paying for any kind of physical human contact. See our Community Guidelines if you have any questions. Please remember to be kind and above all, Neighborly!

“Did you, like, go to beer university?” I’m aware there’s no such thing. I might have googled it. I wish I could bottle up the look James is giving me and package it for commercial sale. It would make a really great replacement for KEEP OUT and NO TRESPASSING signs. Just this look, nothing more, would be enough.

should absolutely be a similar program about the dangers of men’s body products. Aftershave, bodywash, cologne—all of them need warning labels. Maybe prescriptions or age restrictions. May cause infatuation, wild bouts of lust, obsession, or addiction. Please use responsibly.

Tonight is definitely not the time I want to discuss my living situation. I feel over-caffeinated and jumpy, despite drinking beer, not coffee. I also had a sip of Winnie’s jalapeno tequila when no one was watching. It was smooth and spicy perfection, which I’ll admit to no one.

“You assume I have a sense of humor.” Winnie smirks. “I think there’s one buried under there somewhere.” “Don’t think you can try to excavate it. Or try to find some soft and gooey center. It doesn’t exist.” “Or maybe it’s buried so deep you don’t even know it’s still there.” “I’m not burying anything.” “Oh, James,” Winnie says, her voice deceptively soft. “We’re all hiding something.”

James assesses me with a brief glance, and I cannot for the life of me read the expression in his dark eyes. “I’m sure she could handle you on her own. But that doesn’t mean she should have to. Leave.” If I liked the way James stepped in to physically protect me, I love his verbal defense even more. I have a theory. It’s that every woman has two fantasies—one where she’s rescued by a dashing hero, and one where she doesn’t need a hero at all and rescues herself.

“Where’s your, uh, date?” Daniel asks. “Or boss? I wasn’t sure which he was.” You and me both, Daniel. You and me BOTH.

James gives me that James look, patent pending,