Sawyer and Allie look at me, wide-eyed.
“Well, I was gonna suggest we toast to a girls’ night, but I guess we’re just shooting ‘em tonight,” Sawyer says.
I wince as the Jaggermeister goes down, the taste of cranberry juice tart on my tongue.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t be,” Sawyer reassures. “I can’t imagine living with Pops has been pleasant. I’m just grateful I’m not the one having to deal with him 24/7.”
I shake my head and laugh. “It’s been a challenge, but getting a night off should help me not want to slaughter him.”
Sawyer snorts. “Good.”
“Do you have any big plans after he’s fully recovered?“ Allie asks, eyes lighting up with curiosity.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell them about my job offer, but if I tell them, then Tripp’s bound to find out one way or another. And I’m not ready for him to know yet. That would make it feel too real.
“No big plans,” I say instead. “I’m not sure where I’ll be yet.”
There. That sounded okay, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.
One of the younger servers stops by to clear the empty shot glasses. She looks like she’s in her early twenties with blond hair and a smile as big as Texas. She's vaguely familiar, and I realize belatedly she’s the girl who was dancing with Tripp when I decided to get up on top of the bar.
“Get these two girls a couple of Jolly Rancher shots and me a water, would ya?” Sawyer asks.
“Sure thing! Nice to see ya back, Quinn,” she says.
My cheeks warm, and I force a polite smile as she walks off with our empty shot glasses. I might never live down myCoyote Uglymoment.
“That’s Lilah Hart,” Allie tells me. “You probably don’t remember her. She’s quite a bit younger than us.”
“She’s like Little Miss Sunshine,” Sawyer adds, like that’s a bad thing.
I screw up my face, trying to remember why that last name is familiar. “Is she related to Wyatt?”
Allie nods.
“I helped him in 4-H that one summer when I was sixteen. He was eight and needed to work on his ring presence.“
Sawyer snorts. “And then he told everyone he was going to marry you!”
“I forgot about that," I say, laughter bubbling past my lips.
“I think I saw him here tonight somewhere,” Allie says, glancing around.
“Oh God,” I mumble as Lilah drops the shots and water off at our table and quickly slips off to the next one.
Allie waves someone over, and I down my shot, fighting the urge to sink down in my seat as a man struts in from another table. Dirty blond hair, average height, jeans and a western shirt—the unofficial Friday night uniform around here.
“Allie, how’s your night?” he asks.
“Hey, Wyatt. We were just talking about the summer Quinn helped you out with your showmanship in 4-H. Do you remember?”
Allie’s smirk is devious, and Sawyer stays uncharacteristically quiet, taking measured sips from her ice water.
Wyatt’s gaze falls on me, and his cheeks go a deep shade of red. “Of course. Hard to forget when you profess your undying love to a woman only to have her laugh in your face.”
“I did not laugh in your face,” I protest.
