It Started with a Snap by Piper James

Chapter Eleven

Ember

The Golden Eagle Ranch was huge. And empty. My footsteps on the wood floors echoed around me, the only other sound being Kane’s toenails clicking as he ran around sniffing the place out and making sure everything was as it should be.

I shook off the feeling of loneliness that tried to seep through my skin. It was stupid. I lived alone in my tiny loft. I was used to being by myself. And I wasn’t even alone. I had Kane.

Ethan’s offer to let me stay at his house played over and over in my head. What would it be like, being in his space and seeing how he lived?

No. I don’t want to know, and I don’t care.

That man was infuriating. He barely even looked at me when we met back up with the termite inspector. And earlier, when I made that snide comment about him wanting in my pants, he couldn’t have looked more shocked and appalled. Talk about a blow to a girl’s ego. The mere thought of getting naked with me had made him turn green, like he wanted to hurl.

“Fuck him,” I mumbled as I bent over to scoop up Kane, who was now sitting at my feet and staring up at me. “And fuck his tender sensibilities.”

I plopped down on the couch in the living room, clicking on the television as Kane curled up in my lap. When the T.V. lit up, a video was paused on the screen. The background was dark with words in the forefront, but they were blurry, like the video was paused mid-movement. Seeing a tablet on the coffee table, I picked it up.

The device wasn’t locked, and I saw the same image on the screen that was on the T.V. Curious, I tapped the play button and set the tablet aside. Music swelled through the speakers as I read the words on the screen.

Dakota, my life was a wreck before I met you. I was lost in the darkness, and you were a bright light that led me down the path to true happiness. I love you.

“Oh shit,” I mumbled, sitting up a little straighter.

It was Noah’s proposal video.

I watched the whole thing, scene after scene of Dakota doing normal, everyday things while Noah secretly filmed her with her gorgeous engagement ring in the frame. Noah’s voice echoed over the clips, saying the sweetest, most loving things to Dakota while trying to express just how much she meant to him.

By the time the final frame flashed across the screen, showing just the date he proposed, I was crying like a fucking baby. Who knew wild-child Noah was such a cinnamon roll?

“Shit,” I said, furiously wiping my eyes.

I had no idea why I was crying. Sure, the video was sappy and heart-warming, but it wasn’t my thing. I didn’t want that. I was a strong, independent woman, and I had zero fucking desire to be locked down by a man. I didn’t do romance.

I lived my life for me, and I did whatever the hell I wanted. When I wanted. With whomever I wanted.

“Fuck, I need to get laid.”

Sliding Kane off my lap, I hopped up and rushed into the spare bedroom I’d claimed as my own. Stripping out of my clothes, I heated up the shower and hopped in, scrubbing myself clean, shaving, and washing my hair.

After blow-drying my hair into fat waves and applying some makeup, I slid into my cutest dress—a little blue number with spaghetti straps and skirt that barely covered my ass. Strapping on some silver heels and spritzing on some perfume, I looked in the mirror and smiled. I looked hot.

No more wallowing. No more feeling sorry for myself. I was going out.

I took Kane out into the backyard and waited until he did his business, then took him back inside and made sure he had food and water. Once the puppy was all settled, I grabbed my clutch and tucked my phone and a tube of lipstick into it before heading out to my truck.

I was going to have fun. I was going to forget about all my troubles, have a few drinks, and flirt my ass off. And if I found some hot guy that wanted to hook up? All the better.

I needed this. And I needed to get Ethan Perry out of my fucking head.

* * *

“Shit,”I murmured as I walked into The Watering Hole fifteen minutes later.

In my spur-of-the-moment, self-empowered decision to go out, I failed to remember that it was eight-thirty on a Monday night in Red River. The bar was dead, with only a few shadowed tables occupied and a couple of businessmen sitting at the bar.

Heaving a sigh before throwing my shoulders back proudly, I glided over to the bar and slid onto one of the stools. The bartender waved at me before sauntering over with a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Ember,” he said, placing a cocktail napkin in front of me. “What’s your poison tonight?”

“Hey Mack,” I said, giving him my best impersonation of a smile.

“Ouch,” he said, grimacing. Twirling a finger in front of me, he asked, “What’s wrong with your face?”

“Ha, ha,” I deadpanned, but my smile instantly turned genuine. “I’ll have a Long Island.”

“Uh-oh,” he said, grabbing a tall, skinny glass from the rack of clean dishes in front of him. “Going straight for the hard stuff tonight. What’s wrong?”

“You don’t want to know,” I grumbled as I watched him mix my drink. “Long day.”

Mack was my favorite bartender at The Watering Hole, now that Dakota no longer worked here. He was funny as hell, a good listener, movie-star gorgeous with wide, muscled shoulders, and he was one-hundred percent gay. We’d had dozens of conversations across this bar about our exploits with men and the lack of variety in this damn town. We had debates about movies and reality T.V., and Mack was personally responsible for bringing Thursday night karaoke to the bar after finding out how much I loved it.

He liked to call me his soul sister. I called him my brother from another mother.

Normally, I’d be perfectly content to just sit here and drink, talking to Mack. But tonight? Tonight I was restless. And on the prowl.

I looked down the bar at the two businessmen I saw when I came in. They were both sneaking glances at me, chatting quietly as they shot awful-looking leers in my direction. Ugh.

No doubt, they worked with Belle’s dad, Jaxson Parker, over at Parker Industries. There’d be no other reason for them to be dressed as they were. That man was a disgusting, misogynistic leech, and he liked to surround himself with men just like him. Thank fucking God Belle cut him out of her life after she married Ryder.

One of the men nodded his head in my direction, took a long drink of his bourbon or scotch or whatever the fuck he was drinking, then slid off his stool and headed toward me.

Fucking fantastic.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, his voice smooth as his eyes dipped down to my cleavage. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I lifted my glass into the air and wiggled it. “I’m good.”

“Oh, come on,” he cooed, lifting a hand to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Let me spoil you, baby.”

Did he just fucking touch me?

I batted his hand away and shot him a frown. I saw Mack approach in my peripheral vision, and I held up a palm to stop him. I could handle this. I’d been looking for a little action tonight, and while this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, it would do.

“I’m not your baby,” I said. “And if your idea of spoiling a woman is buying them a six dollar drink, I feel sorry for whoever is. Get lost, dickhole.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”—Oh, no, he did not!—“I know you’re ready to party, or you wouldn’t have worn that slutty dress. Let me introduce my dick to your hole. I promise, you’ll love it.”

He pumped his hips for good measure, and I threw up in my mouth, a little. And did that fucker call my dress slutty? The word hit a little too close to home, mirroring what fucking Ethan Perry, the bane of my current existence, said about me a few weeks ago.

Giving the jackwagon a feline smile, I twisted toward him and spread my legs the tiniest bit. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and his hand trembled slightly as he moved to touch my thigh.

Before he made contact, I balled my hands into fists. The left one flew forward, connecting with his—from what I could tell—unimpressive package. He squealed like a pig and bent at the waist as his hands shot to his crotch. My right fist shot forward, pounding into his Adam’s apple. He flew upright to clutch his throat so fast, he lost his balance and plopped back onto his ass. Then he proceeded to roll back and forth on the dirty bar floor, crying like a fucking toddler.

I looked at his buddy with a Cheshire cat grin, angled my hands in front of me with my fingertips pointing toward my pussy, and arched a brow. “What about you? You want some, too?”

Douche number two shook his head furiously, dropped some cash on the bar, and quickly helped his friend to his feet before shuffling him out of the bar. Douche number one screamed obscenities over his shoulder on the way out, all kinds of dire warnings about me watching my back.

I rolled my eyes and swiveled around to face the bar to find Mack holding a fist up to me. Bumping mine against it, I smiled.

“Easy-peasy.”

“Lemon-squeezy,” he replied, sliding a fresh drink in front of me. “They must be new to town, thinking they can talk like that to Ember fucking Moore and get away with it.”

“Right?” I said, taking a long drink of my cocktail. “Don’t they know who I am?”

“Obvi not,” he said, shooting me a wink and grinning before heading back down the bar to the sink.

I watched him wash glasses, a wide grin splitting my face. Mack was the best, and always knew how to perk me up, even when he didn’t know what was wrong.

I might not have had the night I was expecting tonight, but I definitely felt better. And that was all that mattered.