“No. I’m fine, I’ll go whenever Shelby’s ready.” I shoot my best friend a threatening sideways glance before turning back to Red. “You’ve been drinking, anyway.”
“This is the same beer you gave me.” He slides the still-full can across the table to me.
“There. Done. Just catch a ride with Red. Love you, girly.” Shelby claps her hands together. “Come dance with me, Denny.”
What happened to sisterly solidarity? Shelby’s officially off the best friend list.
She leans in before skipping away and whispers, “Youownhis soul. Take advantage.”
“Fuck my life.” I stand and reluctantly follow Red out of the stuffy rodeo dance hall into the cool night.
Our first breath of what should be fresh mountain air is tainted by a group of smokers huddled outside the main entrance. Cigarette smoke swirls through the air, filling my nostrils in one fell swoop.
Gag reflex activated.
There’s no time to get privacy. Or be graceful about this. Before I’ve even inhaled a second breath, I’m keeled over, losing the water and French fries and chocolate shake into the white hydrangeas lining thepathway. The collective stare of a dozen smokers burns holes across my backside, leaving me feeling—and smelling, probably—like a piece of burnt garbage.
My hands find their way to my knees for support as a second wave of nausea hits hard and strong. Blonde strands curtain my face, blowing straight into the line of fire, thanks to a small breeze.
Fuck.This is why I wear my hair up all the time.
A fraction of a second before the rest of my stomach empties across the lava rocks and plants, Red sweeps my hair into a makeshift ponytail. Holding it safely out of the way with one hand, he rubs slow circles on my lower back with his other. Despite how tempted I am to smack him away, I can’t bring myself to. Even after the puking ends, I don’t force the removal of his firm touch.
“You okay?” he asks, watching my face worriedly.
“Yeah. But… can we get away from the smoke?” I fight to get the words out without breathing through my nose, wiping away the tears drying on my cheeks.
“Shit. Of course.” He ushers me forward, hand still unmoved. Even through my coat, it’s burning my skin in the best possible way—a calming presence. I hate it, and I need it. And I hate how badly I need it.
We walk toward his truck, and his arm quickly falls away from my body. As it should.
“Sure you’re good?” he asks, opening the passenger door for me.
I nod slowly, dabbing at the wetness still clung to my eyelashes. “All good. Just want to go home and brush my teeth.”
He starts his crappy truck and watches me as I shiver relentlessly. “I know you’ve been dead set on disliking me, but don’t you think it might be easier in the long run if we just be friends?” Reaching into the back seat, he pulls out a thick Carhartt work coat and spreads it over my lap. “And then you don’t need to pretend like accepting a ride home from me is physically painful.”
“Bold of you to assume I was pretending.” I pull the jacket up to my chin like a blanket. “Not to be dramatic but the Jolly Ranchers arelife-changing, which makes it really hard to dislike you. Also, I don’t have to scrub vomit from my hair tonight, thanks to you. So I guess we can be friends.”
“Glad I could help.” His large hands flex on the steering wheel as he turns out of the dirt parking lot and onto a dark, winding road.
“You guys weren’t at the bar last night.” I kick myself as soon as I say it. It makes it sound like I washopinghe’d show up, and that obviously wasn’t the case.
“Figured I shouldn’t risk blowing your cover. And I don’t trust myself to stay quiet.”
That’s not the answer I was looking for. Reasoning revolving around the ranch or Denny’s rodeo today would’ve sat better with me. I’d almost prefer he break the news to my dad, because that would mean Red doesn’t suddenly care about what I tell him to do. Just like he hasn’t given a shit about rules for the twenty-plus years I’ve known him.
“What happened to your macho ‘it’s gonna be real fucking obvious who your baby daddy is’ bullshit?” Kicking my boots off, I tuck my feet directly against the warm floor vent. “Don’t turn into a softie on me now.”
“Spent enough time around Kate while she was pregnant and crazy to know it’s a bad idea to piss you off.”
The blue dash lights emit enough light to give me an opportunity to study the roped muscle in his arms, watch his thumbs tapping along to the quiet music, and notice his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. But it’s dark enough, I’m pretty sure he can’t see me watching him in my periphery.
“Are you saying I’m crazy?”
He snorts. “If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be here.”
A fire ignites inside my chest, and my mouth opens before I have time to think about what I’m saying. “Actually, if you could put a condom on properly, we wouldn’t be here.” I turn and glare at him. “It’s a miracle you don’t have a dozen illegitimate children… unless you do?” My voice breaks at the end of my sentence, eyes burning with an irritating,hormonal urge to cry at the thought of him having a bunch of other kids out there. I hate the way pregnancy has me constantly on the verge of a breakdown over the stupidest things. Thankfully, I’m becoming quite skilled at pushing it away just before the tears fall.
