His callused fingertip languidly draws hearts on my palm,and all the arguments about why I won’t pretend to be with him melt away. Sign me the fuck up for future heartbreak, if it means having a few minutes of pretending to be his.
God, I’m pathetic.
“Absolutely.” I squeeze gently around his fingers and smile over at him. “Making up for lost time.”
Denver
Peyton’s fake smile falters for a second. “Oh, that’s super cute…. Well, I’ll see you guys around.”
“Really nice to meet you.” Blair gives her an apologetic look, like she feels bad for stealing my heart as a kid and making me emotionally unavailable for everybody else.
We quietly watch Peyton disappear in the crowd gathered near the bar, neither of us racing to remove our hands from their clasped position on top of the table.
“She’s out of your hair now.” Blair slowly unfurls her fingers from mine and tucks her hands into her lap. “Consider it my repayment for the poutine.”
“I think that’s worth more than a shitty rodeo poutine. Getting her to leave me alone—especially without causing a scene—is easily worth at least two dinners. Next weekend maybe?”
“Denver,” she breathes out my name, shoulders rolling forward slightly. “I can’t.”
“Okay, so the weekend after. Or…midweek? I can probably make that work.”
I mean,hell,if Red could drive to town every night after work to win over his lady, so can I. I’ll tell Austin to kiss my ass if he fights me on it.
“I can’t go out with you. I came back here to help take care of Mom, not to partake in whatever it is you do towomen. If that’s what I wanted, I would’ve come home before now.”
My heart plummets to my stomach. She’s made it clear she thinks I’m nothing but a fuckboy now. That all I want is to get her into bed. And I can see why she gets that impression, if people have been filling her head with rumors.
What if it’s all my fault she didn’t come back sooner? She thought I’d moved on, or I was a manwhore, or whatever the fuck. When the truth is that I wouldn’t have even looked at another woman, had I suspected Blair might be back one day.
I want to tell her that, but instead I blurt out, “What I’m doingtowomen? Damn, people caught on about my serial killer M.O., eh?”
“Yup, that’s it.”
I nudge the fries toward her, because suddenly she’s pounding back the rest of her drink, and she’s going to need something to soak it up.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re free to do whatever—whoever—you want. But I r-really need to go.” Her voice cracks and she stands up, white-knuckling the table edge.
“I’ll take you.”
“No, it’s fine. I can get myself home.” All the progress it felt like I was making with her is gone in the blink of an eye. A couple minutes ago, I held her soft, warm hand in mine and, even though it was only for show, the glimmer in her eyes was the first sign of hope I’ve seen from her.
“I can’t let you wander off alone at night. I’ll throw you over my shoulder, if I have to.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her lips purse in defiance.
“I wouldn’t?”
I step into her and my hands find their way to her waist in the same way they have hundreds of times. Only this time I’m shaking, and she jolts like I’ve electrocuted her, jumping back and bumping into a passing stranger. Wide-eyed, she runs her fingers across her bottom lip.
“Come with me to find Colt.” My tone’s more pleading than I intended. Although, it seems to convince her, because she nods silently.
—
With Colt secured, the three of us weave between vehicles until we find his truck. His blue heeler, Betty, barks aggressively as we approach.
“Betty, don’t be a hag,” Colt yells, shutting her up immediately. Then he turns to Blair and adds, “She’s really a sweetie. Don’t let the bark fool you.”
He unties the dog from the flat deck of his truck, and she rushes to hop into the small single cab, settling onto the middle of the bench seat.
