“That’s… the least interesting thing I’ve ever heard.” She purses her lips, holding back a smile. “Wow. I mean, did I fall asleep for a second there? I think I might have.” She fakes a loud yawn, and what I know is a pathetically goofy smile on my face only grows as she continues, “You owe me a better story. I gave you porn noises and haunted dolls, man. This isn’t even close to fair.” She sighs, feigning exasperation as her dimple gives her away. She doesn’t seem capable of fighting off her smile any more than I am, and I really like that.
I’ve never met a woman at Beau’s Bar before. Never wanted to. I come here for peace and quiet, and if I want someone to hook up with, I head to the touristy places in town. It doesn’t normally take more than an hour before someone is eyeing my muddy boots, asking what I do for a living, and wondering just how well I know how to ride. It’s always some version of the same lame innuendo, but I like the predictability of it all. They want to save a horse and ride a cowboy—which I most certainly am not, but don’t bother to correct—and I want… well… sex. Specifically, with someone I don’t have to see ever again. Someone who doesn’t have to carry any of my burdens, because no one should have to.
I focus back on the surprisingly enticing woman next to me, whose sparkling eyes look like golden coins. “Hate to break it to you, tesouro.” The nickname slips out, either because of the song or those damn eyes I’m fascinated by. Thankfully, they’re not so distracting that I can’t finish my thought. “But I’m a pretty boring guy.” Not a lie. I don’t do much outside of work and this. Occasionally, I might see one of my siblings, but the guilt, shame, and fear of letting more people down mostly keeps me away from my family—they don’t deserve any of my bullshit either. My friend and sponsor would vehemently disagree with me, but he’s been trying to convince me to make amends with my family for years, and I haven’t budged yet.
“Is that so?” she asks, eyes squinting with disbelief.
Clearing my throat as I force myself not to dwell on the things I can’t fix right now, I go on, “I like having a simple life. Simple routines. And I’m not ashamed to admit that curling up with my dog at the end of the day with a good book is an ideal night for me.” More truths I don’t normally share, because if you tell a woman you have a pet, they’ll want to meet it. I don’t bring anyone to the farmhouse. Ever. For a multitude of reasons. Though I’m sure Luther would love a new friend to play with.
“What kinds of books?” Her eyes light up, and the question takes me by surprise. I expected her to ask about the dog, and since I never get to talk about books with anyone, my answer slips out easily.
“Thrillers, mostly.” I scratch the back of my neck, leaving out the fact that occasionally I borrow one of Raf’s romance novels. The mystery woman next to me raises her brows, silently asking me to elaborate. “But sometimes it’s nice to read something lighter, I guess, you know?” At the unsure tone in my voice, Josie, who’s been pretending not to listen as she putters around behind the bar, covers up a laugh with a cough. She’s a menace.
Biting her lip thoughtfully, my new companion shakes her head. “Well, not really, no. I don’t even remember the last time I read something that wasn’t educational or self-help or something.” Coming out of most people, that sentence might sound condescending or judgmental, but she says it almost like she’s upset at the fact she just stated about herself. Her lips momentarily turn into a frown. “I wouldn’t even know what I like to read when it comes to fiction, to be honest, but I think I’d like to find out.” A small smile tugs at one side of her mouth as her eyes meet mine again, hope written across what is probably the prettiest face I’ve ever seen. “Can you recommend anything?”
I don’t even hesitate. I say the first thing that comes to my mind, which isn’t usually the best choice. “Karina Halle has a great dark, sort of gothic, and paranormal book called Grave Matter. It’s a little science-y, and there’s a great twist. It takes place in British Columbia.” Fuck. That book is also technically a romance. It definitely has explicit sex scenes.
Shit.
I just recommended smut to a woman whose first name I don’t know.
Is that inappropriate? I don’t know what the etiquette on stuff like this is.
Without questioning anything else about the book, because why would she, she slides her phone out of her back pocket and mouths the title as she types. The way her lips move is distractingly sexy. And adorable. “Got it.” Her tone is triumphant. “I wonder if that cool outdoor bookstore will have it,” she says mostly to herself. “Anyway, thanks…”
“Arthur,” I finish. Again, my mouth works faster than my brain, and before I know it, so does my hand, because it’s outstretched.
She places her small, delicate hand in my callused one, and I hold my breath as the simple touch travels from the tips of my fingers and straight to my chest like a bolt of lightning on a skyscraper.
“Alice,” she says softly, and only then do I exhale.
Alice, I repeat in my mind.
“It’s nice to meet you, Arthur.”
TWO
it has my mind—and my dick—reeling
Arthur
With her hand still in mine and a bright smile on her face, she stands. “Wanna dance with me?” Her question takes me entirely by surprise.
I don’t move, but then it registers that there’s a slow country song is playing. Beau usually puts shit like this on when it’s dead in here, so I recognize it almost immediately.
Alice’s grin slips when I take too long to respond, and as she starts to retrieve her hand, I squeeze a little tighter. I’m on my feet before I let go, flexing my fingers as if that will get rid of the tingling sensation. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me, but apparently, I’m going to dance with her, so I nod and we make our way slowly to the dimly lit dance floor.
We get into position silently, her hands resting on my shoulders before wrapping gently around my neck as mine settle low on her back. We start out like two awkward teenagers at a middle school dance—bodies a little stiffand averting our eyes to look at everything but each other. But as the seconds tick by, we relax, and as her sweet scent fills my lungs, I close my eyes just long enough to take the deepest breath, as if it may be my last. When I let it out, her feet shift closer, or maybe it’s mine that move first. I can’t be bothered to care that we’re cheek to cheek, shifting so slowly in the nearly empty room that I’m not even sure this counts as dancing. When my hands shift along her back, my fingers graze the space between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans, and she melts a little deeper into me. She’s so soft, and the sweet humming noise she makes when I draw little circles on her skin has my mind—and my dick—reeling.
I’ve never danced with anyone at Beau’s Bar. I’ve never wanted to. Maybe it was the way her shoulders were slumped when her friend left, or the way her dimple popped when she smiled, or how hopeful she sounded at the simple prospect of a new book to read. Let’s go with that. Let’s go with the fact that whatever her troubles are, she’s here because she needs a pick-me-up, and if I can help to give her that, then I will. Vó always says we’re born with two hands for a reason: one to give and one to receive.
The song ends, and there are a couple of seconds of silence before the next one starts up. I say a silent prayer for another ballad. Something that will keep us here. But nope. Fucking “Chattahoochee” starts to play, and Alice’s forehead comes to rest on my shoulder as her body shakes with laughter. She steps back, taking all the warmth in the room with her when she turns to walk back to our stools. As much as I dislike that we’ve lost our physical connection, I’m not mad about the view. The way her jeans hug her hips and ass is sinful, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it.
We take our seats, her body still turned toward mine when she says, “Thank you for the dance.” Her focus drops to the two shots still on the bar. “Well, I guess I should drink these, huh? I thought they might improve my day, but sitting here with you has already taken care of that.” Her cheeks turn a shade of pink I’d definitely like to see again, but she pushes through her embarrassment and meets my eyes. “I suppose they can’t make the day worse, though, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Would you like to join me?” Her bright eyes widen as she waits for my answer.
After a long silence, I glance at the shot glass that’s been pushed closer to me while my body remains perfectly still. I smell the alcohol, but I’m not tempted by it. I never am.
“I’m good,” I respond, not chancing a look at her face again. Like Beau, I don’t have a problem being near alcohol, but I won’t drink it. We also choose not to surround ourselves with people who drink excessively, who lose control. He’s always had strict rules about how much he serves his patrons, and if they don’t like it, they can leave.
