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headed for the bar, where Houston got out his wallet and leaned over.
    “No,” said Kirsten. “Let me get this round.”
    Houston made a face at her.
    “What if I say no?” he said.
    “Please?”
    Jack recognized something in her face. She was still nervous about them, he could tell. Kirsten obviously wasn’t the kind of girl who went out a lot, or had a lot of people buying drinks for her, judging by her reaction to the other guy who’d tried to buy her one at the club.
    “How about this,” Jack said. “We buy you drinks, but pinkie-swear that you don’t owe us anything.”
    “That isn’t what I meant,” she said, blushing even harder.
    “Buy your own drinks again tomorrow,” Jack said. “Just for tonight. We promise.”
    She made a face.
    “My scar hurts every time you don’t let us buy you a drink,” he said, trying to look serious.
    “Okay, okay, fine ,” Kirsten said, half smiling and half rolling her eyes. “I don’t even think you have a scar, since you won’t let me see it.”
    “Is that why you want to buy me a drink? To get me naked?”
    Now the bright red flush extended all the way down her neck and into her hairline, even as she laughed.
    “Go grab a songbook and a table,” he told Houston and Kirsten. “I’ll get these and then we’ll get to work figuring out what to sing. You like whiskey sours?”
    “It’s like you read my mind,” Kirsten said.

Chapter Four

    Kirsten

    Kirsten wanted to sing Meatloaf, Houston wanted Garth Brooks, and Jack tried to talk the both of them into singing Bon Jovi. When Kirsten finally got her way and roped the two of them into singing with her, there was an hour-long wait for karaoke already.
    Jack and Houston both just shrugged, one sitting on either side of her in the booth.
    “What else are we gonna do tonight?” Jack asked. “There’s no line dancing in Vegas.”
    “Do you really line dance?” Kirsten asked.
    She sipped her whiskey sour through the narrow cocktail straw, since it slowed her down a little. She was three sheets to the wind already, and even though she was having the time of her life, she didn’t want to ruin it by getting too drunk.
    In the pocket of her dress, her phone vibrated again. This time she pulled it out, rolled her eyes at the line of texts, and turned it off, letting Jack and Houston pore over the songbook again. When she’d left the club, she’d texted her friends that she was heading out. She hadn’t mentioned that she was heading out in the company of two tall, hot, very good looking men who were definitely cowboys and might be shifters, but her friends had put it together in near-record time anyway.
    Now they were just texting her asking for pictures, stories, and updates, and Kirsten ignored them completely.
    “There’s some good country songs in here for your divorce party,” suggested Jack.  
    “Nothing like country song karaoke for a divorce,” Houston agreed.
    Aw, fuck , thought Kirsten, her brain feeling a little sloshy. I didn’t tell them.
    She took another sip of her drink.
    Well, why would I? she thought. I’m probably never going to see them again after tonight. I didn’t even want to go to Vegas for a divorce party. Just pretend that you’re normal for tonight, and it’ll be fine.
    “I should have suggested this to my friends,” she said. “They could get drunk and get up on stage and start singing angry country songs about cheatin’ men and busted pickups and dogs.”
    Her heart twinged, and Kirsten wished that she hadn’t said dogs . She knew, deep down, that Bruce didn’t love her golden retriever Katie nearly as much as she did. Right now, Katie was probably outside in his backyard, instead of inside on her fluffy dog bed like she deserved, but Kirsten had run out of both money and fight. After all, it was technically true that Bruce’s name had been on the adoption paperwork, even if everyone knew that Katie was her dog.
    She took another gulp of her drink.
    Have a good