24
Macey
* * *
“Macey,” Ginny whispers for the fourth time from her barstool next to me. “Please drink this shot. I don’t want the bartender to feel bad.”
My tiny jean cut-offs sport a beer stain from when Dave dropped his draft in my lap, and my cute pink Texas Y’all top now has peanut dust all over it—again from Dave and his drunken clumsiness. My wavy hair’s still wavy but not in a pretty way, thanks to nearly seven hours of Logan refusing to use the A/C and subjecting us to constant desert winds through the open windows of his beat-up Chevy. He loves the open air, and normally, I do, too. But the long trip wasn’t good for my hair.
I shake my head at Ginny. “You know I don’t normally do shots. And I’ve already drunk”—I count on my fingers—“one, two, three—three shots for you, Ms. Rattles. That’s beyond what a best friend should do.”
I never get drunk. My father’s an alcoholic, for God’s sake. But to keep our family business running successfully, I need to make sure the customers buy drinks. And drink them. So I have a soft spot for bartenders trying to be nice. Or maybe, I just needed a night to forget about things—like The Cowherd back home, my father’s most recent trip to rehab, and my own nearly abandoned dream to be a novelist.
Any minute now, we’ll be heading to the Little White Wedding Chapel for Ginny and Dave’s upcoming nuptials. Logan and Dave took turns driving through the night and—amongst several naps in rest areas—we arrived in Sin City this afternoon. We all crashed for a few hours of needed sleep, and after we woke up, we grabbed dinner and stopped for drinks at a downtown bar called This Way’s Better. The place is made for tourists with plenty of Vegas paraphernalia for sale. We’ve been here too long already, but none of us are pushing anyone to get going.
Logan and I don’t want to pressure Ginny into anything, and we’re more than half hoping she’ll change her mind.
Dave looks like he’s been taken over by cold feet.
And Ginny, who doesn’t want anyone here to know she’s pregnant, is having a hell of a time refusing the free drinks our bartender keeps serving up. Once he found out she was getting married, he’s made sure to treat her. Dave drinks enough on his own, so Ginny’s turned to Logan and me to help her out.
“Gin, I’m pretty sure it’s Logan’s turn to drink for you.” I slide the shot glass past Ginny to Logan.
“Thanks, bartender.” Logan’s slow drawl sends chills through me in all the right places. “Looks like you’re still working even though you’re not at The Cowherd.”
Logan raises the shot, tips the liquid into his mouth, and puts the now empty glass back down on the bar.
Seems like I’m not the only one letting loose away from home.
Logan’s got his Spurs cap on backward over his hair, ripped blue jeans showing off his cute butt, chocolate-brown cowboy boots he’s never without, and his favorite red Rebel Soul t-shirt that’s always called me home.
No matter if we’re in Nevada or Texas, Logan Wild always finds a way to stand out.
He may not be conventionally handsome, but when you ooze cowboy ruggedness and rebel in one irresistible package, convention isn’t important. He’s hot as hell, and I want to glare at all the women in here who’ve been staring at him since we walked into the bar.
But I can’t do something so ridiculous. Logan isn’t mine—I like to think of him that way, but we have no strings. We’ll never have strings, and the more I remind myself of that, the better.
I forget our rules as I look at him, though—at those cocky, whiskey-colored eyes that mirror my own, his dark hair that’s forever unruly, his mouth that always looks like it’s making fun of something—and I can’t get out of my head the last time we were together. My heart beats fast, and I swallow. Logan grins back at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“We should go pick up your marriage license,” I say reluctantly to Ginny.
Before she can answer, the bartender passes by us and drops two more shots off for Ginny and Dave.
“For good luck.” He winks at Ginny. “Your fiancé says you four are lifelong friends?”
“Crib baby friends.” Ginny points at Logan. “He and Macey met the day she was born. Logan was an infant at her parents’ shotgun wedding, and her mama gave birth right after the marriage vows. Logan’s mama helped deliver Macey, and Logan was lying right there in his bassinette while she popped out. Isn’t that cool?”
“You were slippery even then, Mace.” Logan grins at me. “My mama said nobody could catch you when you came out.”
I reach over to put my hand over his mouth. “TMI, Logan.”
The bartender grins. “And you said you’re from Texas?”
“Darcy, Texas,” Ginny says. “Jane Austen’s ghost has counted on our census since the town’s founding. We’re the only town in the world to count a ghost as an official resident. We’re in the Guinness Book of World Records.”
The bartender laughs. “That’s definitely unique.”
“Yep. The town motto is ‘Find Your Mr. Darcy.’ Macey says it keeps her single.”
