“Ain’t that the truth. If you haven’t found it by the time I’m done, you can totally borrow my copy. I’m a third of the way through, and I’m addicted to it.” Codie finishes mixing my whiskey sour, pouring it into a glass and placing it on the wood bar top in front of me. I hand her back her book, which she tucks back into her apron.
“Thanks, that’d be great,” I smile.
“Of course. I’m here on weeknights if you ever want to talk books.”
“I might take you up on that,” I say. Codie smiles, turning to the other side of the bar which has filled up pretty quickly.
With a sip of my drink (very strong, I might add), I survey the room. The live band is setting up in the corner, and some folks are already dancing to the music coming from the speakers. A bachelorette party plays darts on the opposite wall, and a group of actual cowboys I can only assume are locals stands at a tall table in between. There are a few couples scattered throughout, and plenty of excited tourists taking photos.
Next to me sits a couple of guys who I assume are from out of town, but aren’t dressed up like they’re an extra in a wild west drama like some of the other tourists. One of them glances my way and smiles. His dark, curly hair peeks out from underneath a worn ball cap. He’s dressed pretty casually, wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans with boots. He’s cute enough to know it, and he gives off a sort of country frat boy, non-commitment kind of vibe.
Just my type.
How do I know all of this so quickly after seeing him? Well, I’m kind of an expert on fuckboys. I am one with fuckboys.
A fuckgirl, if you will.
I’m not exactly looking to get into a long term relationship either, so it works out for both parties. Like my Aunt Millie always says, men are like expensive wine. Best enjoyed in moderation, on special occasions.
I turn towards mystery guy and smile back, tossing my wide curls over my shoulder. This gets his attention. It’s way too easy, like clockwork.
“Hey,” is his great, captivating pick up line.Come on, dude, you can do better than that,I resist from rolling my eyes.
“Hi back,” I say. “Nice boots.”
“Thanks. Right back at ya,” he says, nodding towards my boots. I went with the heeled, bright pink suede boots tonight, visible under my short, black ruffled dress.
“Oh these old things?” I tease, kicking my leg up. That earns a laugh. “I’m Katie.”
“Dean,” he says, shaking my hand. “Are you from around here?”
“I’m from a little town in Idaho, but I’m here for the summer. You?”
“I’m from Star Valley, about forty-five minutes south of here,” he says. “My buddies and I come up here every once in a while for the live music.” Perfect. Not a tourist but also not a local I’ll have to see all summer.
We flirt a while longer and I learn Dean is twenty-seven years old and works at a lumber yard. I tell him about why I’m in town, and he seems at least a little interested in my managing vacation rentals. It’s more than I can say for most guys I talk to.
His friend eventually joins a few other guys at one of the pool tables, but Dean stays back at the bar and orders us another round. I’m having a good time for the first time in a couple of months, and it feels great. I’m laughing at his jokes, he’s smiling at me. The start of a magical night out. Hazel was right.
It almost stays that way, but out of the corner of my eye movement catches my attention as two more cowboys enter the bar. One with a megawatt smile, curly chestnut hair, and eyes so blue I can see them from across the room. But it’s the one in the black cowboy hat next to him with the perma-frown on his face that makes my stomach drop.
And after it drops, it flips a couple of times at the Wranglers hugging Miles’s backside. Of course he’s here.
I don’t understand my luck. Out of all the bars in this town, on all of the nights, Miles Autry just walked into this one that I happen to be enjoying myself at. I should have known. I swear, sometimes my life is one big cosmic joke.
“Katie? You good? You look kinda pale,” Dean’s hand lands on my thigh, sending goosebumps up my arms. I pull my gaze back to his.
“Yep, sorry, I’m great. What were you saying?” I try to appear interested as he continues his story about kayaking drunk down the Snake River last summer, but I can feel Miles across the bar. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he and his friend walk over to a table near the band.
I hate that his presence has already ruined what was going to be a great night in Jackson Hole. But does it have to? There’s no reason I need to pay any attention to him at all. I’m done with Miles sucking the life out of every interaction I have. Just because he hates me, doesn’t mean I need to put any more energy or brain cells into figuring out why. There is absolutely no good reason anyway.
I’m going to have fun tonight despite him almost ruining my day. I won’t let him have that power over me. A cute boy is touching my leg and telling me about falling into a river. Deanwantsto talk to me. He thinks I’m funny. I don’t need Miles Grumpypants Autry’s approval. In fact, I’m going to delight in his disapproval.
“Do you want to dance?” I interrupt Dean.
“Sure,” He agrees and walks me over to the dance floor. The band is playing Patsy Cline and quite a few people are dancing now. I resist the urge to look over at Miles, who I’m sure has seen me by now and has probably left so he doesn’t have to be in the same room as me. Dean is so fun. We dance for a while, eventually giggling through a line dance neither of us knows, but we are determined to at least try.
I finally catch my breath when the music turns slow. Dean’s hands are around my waist, mine are in his hair. We sway to the song, a little tipsy, all smiles. Movement catches my eye behind his head, and I look past only to lock eyes with Miles.
