I closed the distance between us and leaned in, just enough to pick up the scent of her shampoo. "I've come by all my knowledge of you honestly. I don't need confirmation of anything. You've done enough of that on your own."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," she said, the words low and cold.
"Yeah? Then consider the possibility that neither do you."
I shouldered my backpack and, once again, walked away from Audrey Saunders with no clue where I was going or what I'd do when I got there.
chapter twenty
Jude
Today's vocabulary word: imperious
One of themany problems with being stuck in a remote town in the high desert was that there was nowhere to go. Short of wandering into the mountains and feeding myself to the coyotes, the pickings were slim.
The diner was closed for the day along with the general store. I ended up parking myself at the laundromat—they had free wifi—and throwing myself into work for a couple of hours. The steady hum of the machines took the edge off some of the tension that'd gathered between my shoulders but I still wanted to march right up to Audrey and explain why she was so fucking wrong about everything.
And she was wrong. About all of it.
Once the sun melted behind the mountains and I heard the low rumbles of thunder off in the distance, I hiked back to the motel. Audrey wasn't there, though I didn't think she would be. She'd wait until the last possible moment to return, if for no other reason than to prove to me that she could.
She wasn't the only one who could prove a point.
I ditched my backpack and headed for the bar across the street. Or, I assumed the low-slung building was a bar. No name, no sign, just two dozen pickup trucks and the throb of music bleeding out the doors and into the evening air. I'd be able to burn a few hours in there.
The place was packed but it added up when I remembered what Woody had said about the county fair and tomorrow's rodeo. I found an empty spot at the end of the bar and ordered a beer.
I was halfway into a one-sided argument with myself when a laugh snagged my attention. It was like a fishhook right through my gray matter, pulling me against the currents of noise and bodies until my gaze landed on a smile so wide it was like I was staring straight into a floodlight.
There she was, her cheeks pink and her hair loose around her shoulders as her laughter cut through the country music.
And some fucking guy in a cowboy hat tucked her into his arms as they danced across the floor. She'd changed into jeans that fit her like a dream and a shirt that fluttered with every move. A few wisps of hair curled around her face from the heat. She'd been at it awhile.
All I could see were his hands. On her hips, her waist. Around her shoulders. His smile pressing against her cheek. But I realized my mistake too soon. The song was finished but Audrey wasn't. Another guy in a cowboy hat offered her his hand and she took it, laughing like the night belonged to her and not to the history between us.
The songs blurred together as Audrey moved from one partner to the next, each with big, shiny belt buckles and well-loved boots. The cowboys tipped their hats at her and she took their hands without a second thought. She kept dancing and laughing through each tune while I tried to remember the last time I saw her so completely happy. It was the only thing thatkept me from bolting off this stool and flipping every table in this place.
"Those bull riders found themselves something fun to play with," the bartender drawled when he caught me staring. "Thinkin' about askin' for a dance?"
I rolled the beer bottle between my palms. It was warm now, mostly untouched. I watched her hair whip her face as her partner spun her away and then back until she was flattened against his chest. When she shifted out of his hold and into the next sequence of steps, her gaze tripped over mine. She went on smiling but raised a brow in challenge. She held my eyes for a second before picking up the dance but it was enough to remind me she still knew exactly how to gut me without saying a word. "Maybe."
He tipped his chin at the beer. "Another?"
I nodded, my gaze still locked on Audrey while I tossed down a few bills. She threw her head back and laughed at something the guy—the bull rider—said. She had one hand laced with his and the other between his shoulder blades, and the way she leaned into him, completely at ease, made my jaw clench so hard I gave myself a headache. I went on gripping the beer bottle, running my thumb over the raised marks along the neck while reminding myself to keep my ass on the barstool.
She was smiling and laughing and having fun, and the last thing she wanted was for me to interfere with that. Still, each time her smile flashed at someone else, it sparked in my chest like a dare. Like she was reminding me just how thoroughly she'd lived without me—and how little she cared that I was right here, watching. Waiting.
My muscles pulled taut with every next song, every wild spin, until even the barstool seemed to whisperGet the hell up. It shaved years from my life but I fought off the urge to stride across the room and steal her away for myself.
Until one of those bull riders draped an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the door. I was off that stool and across the bar in a blink.
I rounded on them, saying, "Thought you'd save the last dance for me, Saunders."
The rider glanced between us and tugged her closer. "Do you know this guy?" he asked, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear.
Audrey nodded but made no move away from her new friend. If anything, her smile sharpened like she knew exactly how deep this knife was sinking and wasn't about to pull it free. She wanted me to watch, to stew in it, tosuffer, and god help me—I was. And she knew it too.
I swallowed down all the words scraping the back of my throat—the warnings, the promises, the questions that'd burrowed into the back of my mind for too long. If I took one step closer, I knew I'd forget all the bullshit stories I'd told myself about what I wanted from her and why we were doing this.
