Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Pushing up, I grab my phone and text my dad:
You okay watching Beck if I go meet Joey out at Whiskey’s?
They go to bed early, but they’re up watching TV and reading, so he doesn’t take long to reply.
We’ve got him covered. He’s safe here. You have fun and drive safely.
Thanks, Dad.
I could wear what I’d wear in New York or see if any shirts in the closet still fit. I go to the closet and start to flip through hangers until I find a black button-up. I pull on a pair of jeans that magically got washed today and then the shirt. The arms are tighter, so I wave my arms in front of me to stretch the cotton.
I’m missing a belt that will work with this attire, so I leave the shirt untucked, but I make sure to grab my boots and a felted black hat before I walk out the door. The clothes are foreign to my body, but it feels good to be in something different, something made to weather a bar fight, wear to a Texas wedding, and everything in between.
With the keys to the truck in hand and almost a full tank of gas, I take off across county lines and find my way back to the only bar worth visiting in a thirty-mile radius.
I grin when I see the flashing Y in the sign on the verge of going out. The metal exterior is rusted, neon beer signs hang in the windows, and the parking lot is full. I wasn’t the only one with this idea.
Walking in, I quickly scope it out. The place has expanded, more pool tables are behind the bar to the left, and the dance floor is already crowded with couples dancing to a live band. This place has changed. It was nothing more than a dive bar when Baylor and I stopped in for a beer.
“Granger baby, you’re back!” Joey comes up and slaps his hand in mine. “Good to see ya, man.”
I almost don’t recognize him. Tucked under a lighter straw cowboy hat, he used to wear a buzz cut, but his hair is shaggier around the ears now. His face is fuller to match the rest of his build, but his laid-back grin is still the same. “It’s good to be back.”
“Come on. Let’s get you a beer and catch up.”
We find some vacant stools and sit before ordering two draft beers. They’re not so much as set down on the bar in front of us when the door opens. It draws the crowd’s attention because everyone wants to see who walks in.
There’s no denying who it is with her hair shining like silk free-falling over her shoulders, those eyes that remind me of sapphires, and a smile that just about knocks me on my ass because it’s so gorgeous. The fitted green tank top clings to her tits and is tucked into a pair of denims that had to be painted on. She’ll need the Jaws of Life to remove them later, or . . . my teeth could do the job.
I’m even privy to hearing her laugh from this distance. It’s music to my ears. Finding her incredibly tantalizing, I empty the pint glass because I’m already well aware that I’m totally fucked in this situation. Or will be if I’m lucky!
CHAPTER 12
Christine
Two hours prior . . .
“Let’s go out,” I say as soon as Lauralee answers my call of anguish to take my mind off Tagger Grange. The most frustrating man I’ve ever met and the best kisser. Damn him.
I just don’t know what to think about our relationship, though calling it a “relationship” might be getting about ten yards ahead of us still. “Okay, where? To Whiskey’s?”
“I don’t love that place, but it’s familiar, and we get half-price beers, so that’s a win.”
She laughs. “That’s because they’re desperate to get women through the door. You’ll have the pick of the litter in that place.”
“We’ll have the pick of the litter, Miss Peach Festival. Are you in for nine?”
“See you then.”
I arrive five minutes early and wait beside her burnt-orange Mustang convertible. In Austin, you can find other cars this color in honor of the University of Texas, her alma mater. But out here, she’s one in a million, so everyone knows it’s her when they see this car coming.
She comes out with a small bag hanging from her elbow, her phone in hand, and keys in the other. “You’re rarely on time. Anxious much?”
“Actually, I am.”
The car beeps when she unlocks it. “Get in, hot stuff, and let’s get to partying.”
She peels out in a flurry of gravel crunching under her tires, and then turns up the music. The top is up tonight, but we’ve had many good times cruising with it down and singing at the top of our lungs over the years in this car. Just being with her lifts my spirits. “I’m not hooking up with anyone.”