guys snickered while PJ turned a bright red. “No,” he answered quickly. “I get plenty of sex. For free.”
“Right,” Eli said. “And Noah is celibate.”
“Hey, don’t drag the innocent bystander into this,” I said, chuckling as I checked off another barrel before sending it down the line.
“I don’t, nor would I ever, pay for sex,” PJ insisted again. When no one answered with more than a lifted brow, he threw his hands up in the air before letting them hit his thighs with a slap and a groan. “You guys suck.”
We all laughed at that, me ruffling his hair before telling him we were just teasing. He was the youngest, just like a little brother to us, and we couldn’t help it. He didn’t seem appeased, but he got back to work, each of us falling into the groove as Eli rambled on about what he would buy if he had stupid money.
They didn’t ask me what I would do, and I was glad for it. I probably would have lost a few of my man points if I told them the truth. All I’d want is a modest house, big enough for my family and my horse. I’d want to spend our time traveling or farming or building memories together, never working another day in my life and making it so my wife wouldn’t have to, either. Not unless she wanted to.
That thought was still in my mind when Ruby Grace’s barrel stopped at my feet.
I stared at the cursive loops of her name on the gold plate, tracing them a little longer than necessary before I checked the box next to her name and sent the barrel on. My eyes followed it halfway to the buyer’s tent, pulse picking up speed at the thought of talking to her tonight.
It made no sense. I didn’t know what I expected to get out of any of it. She was getting married — in less than five weeks, no less. I had nothing to offer her that she didn’t already have and she couldn’t give me a single thing more than what she already had.
And yet, there was some part of me that desired her, that needed her in whatever way I could get her.
I didn’t really give a fuck if it was right or wrong.
I was still analyzing it all, trying to pinpoint what it was about that girl that got under my skin, when the rest of the guys and I retreated to the staff tent to freshen up before the opening speech from Patrick Scooter. In less than an hour, the entire Scooter estate would be littered with people from Stratford and the surrounding area. It was the biggest party of the year, a time when no matter where you lived or how much money you made, you got to come together with the rich and the fabulous and drink the same whiskey as them. For one night, our town was united — though everyone would likely still stay in their little circles.
The band was already playing when I emerged from the staff tent, dressed in my good blue jeans and white, button-up shirt. I left the top button unfastened, rolled the sleeves up to just under my elbows, and topped the whole look off with my best cowboy boots and my favorite cowboy hat. It was a Stetson, made of premium wool that matched the dark mocha brown of my boots, and before it was mine, it had been my father’s.
Gus had me running around, greeting the barrel buyers I’d worked with throughout the season, making sure they knew where their barrel was to take home after the event and getting them set up in the VIP area with whatever they needed. I’d take pictures of them with their barrels, introduce them to the rest of the barrel raising team as well as the scientists behind the creation of their unique whiskey, and answer any questions they had before moving on to the next.
This was my element.
I knew whiskey. I knew Scooter Whiskey. I knew the barrel raising process, the science behind our whiskey, what we could and what we couldn’t tell the buyers about the product they’d paid top dollar for. I knew how to charm a crowd, how to impress someone and make them feel good about blowing all that money, and how to represent our company the same way my father had.
What I didn’t know was what to do when Ruby Grace walked into