Quickdraw Slow Burn (Battle of the Bulls #3) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,5

him as they passed a green sign that read Evansville, Population 2,544. “I don’t want you to think that. You’ve been kind to me.”

He tossed her a glance and then put his focus back on the road. He was heavily tattooed from his neck down. She knew because she’d seen him without clothes. His torso and arms were almost completely covered, but she had a guess why. He was a man who hid behind the ink on his skin. Every interview she’d watched, he’s avoided all personal questions, or given some obviously bull-crap answer with a remorseless smirk etched onto his face. He’d tattooed himself with armor, but when she’d asked about them, he’d just said, “Chicks dig tattoos,” and changed the subject. Okay, mystery man.

Right now, the tattoos covering his neck were stark against the pale off-white color of his long-sleeve thermal. The fabric hugged the curves of his massive muscles, and she could see every flex of his triceps and biceps as he turned the wheel. He didn’t wear a hat at the moment, but his longer black hair was all creased as though he’d been wearing the white cowboy hat that was sitting on his dashboard. His shirt was tucked partially into his jeans, and he wore a belt buckle with a longhorn etched into it. Her gaze lingered there. She knew exactly how big his dick was under the zipper of those jeans.

He glanced over at her again, busting her, and Annabelle’s cheeks went up in flames with her embarrassment.

He only grinned a knowing smile and focused on the road again, looking a little cockier than he had a few moments ago.

“Things ain’t that wrong if you’re still thinkin’ dirty thoughts about me,” he uttered in that deep, gritty voice of his.

Okay, this man was pure sex appeal, and she understood one-hundred percent why he had a couple million followers on Instagram. He was the hot-as-hell bad boy of the shifter bull riding circuit, number one and consistent with his rank, perfectly chiseled like a marble statue of a Grecian god with muscle, tattoos that were hot, a smile that would charm the pants off even the most frigid woman, and he had that don’t-care attitude that was irresistible in interviews. But his fans didn’t know the half of it. He was quick, and funny, and stupidly good in bed.

And then there was her—an awkward, messy, in-between-jobs, semi-slobby, possibly knocked-up-out-of-wedlock werewolf who, at the moment, couldn’t change into her animal to save her life.

One of them had all their shit together, and one of them did not.

His fans knew the fantasy of him, but the reality, from what she’d seen, was even better.

The crush she’d had all along that she had tried her best to convince herself was silly was still sitting right there at the surface of her heart.

Dammit.

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked.

“Anything but country music and elevator music.”

Good golly, she’d never witnessed a more offended look on any man’s face before.

“You don’t like country music?” he asked.

She laughed and shook her head. “Strike one against us. We don’t have the same taste in music.”

His nostrils flared just a little, and then he said, “Siri, play the ‘Buck You’ playlist.”

When a Yelawolf song came on, she sang out “Oooooh!” as she danced to the intro. “Okay, so you have a little taste in music.”

“You better sing this song,” he murmured, chuckling at her dance moves.

And she did. Badly, for she only knew twenty-five percent of the lyrics, but at least she attempted.

He was smiling so big by the time she messed up her way through the last couple of lines.

“I knew you had a good voice.” He picked up his phone and scrolled through a few songs. He stopped it at a Carrie Underwood song, but not a happy, lovey Carrie song. An Angry Carrie song. There was a difference. “Don’t pretend you don’t know any country songs,” he rumbled and then turned it up.

She tried her best to level him with a serious look, but his smile was contagious so, yep, she sang right along with the song and showed off a little on the high notes.

“Okay, I was going to take you out to a nice dinner and get to re-know you, but now I have a better idea.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.

“Hey, Siri?” He offered her a quick wink before he dragged his attention back to the road. “Call Raven.”

Two rings, and Annabelle’s best friend in the whole