I’ve never been more embarrassed than I was when I left that night. It’s been years since I’ve gotten laid, but goddamn, I didn’t expect a little making out and grinding to do me in so quickly. How pathetic.
“Havin’ fun, Dad?”
Turning my head, I meet my son’s gaze, and my heart nearly leaps from my chest. “Oh, a fuckin’ blast,” I deadpan, finishing off the rest of my drink before signaling to the bartender for another.
Hollis chuckles before downing the rest of his beer and doing the same. “So, I can expect to see you up on that mechanical bull later?”
I huff. “Not a chance.”
“Ash and Remi are kickin’ their asses,” he says once our drinks are dropped off, making me realize I’ve been staring at Remington this whole time.
Fuck.
I need to get my head on right and figure out a way to keep my eyes to myself. Or, at the very least, not in Remington’s direction.
“Looks like it,” I muse, trying to slow my racing heart. What is it about him that has me so on edge? And out of nowhere.
“Come on,” Hollis says, nudging me in the arm. “Let’s go over there.”
I don’t bother fighting it, because I know my son, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. And what’s the point? I’m here for them. There’s no sense in me standing by the bar the whole night by myself. If anything, that’ll get me into more trouble than being near them. At least, this way, they won’t catch me staring at their friend.
Remington and Ash score the win a few minutes later, and Finn and Hollis jump in to play them next when August and Tripp disappear onto the dance floor. It’s easy to keep my eyesoff Remington, listening to the four of them talk shit while they shoot. But then, as if he can sense me thinking about him, he finds my gaze and holds it for a second too long. Something sparks between us; I feel it in my gut, and I know he does too. The way his smile shifts into something more private, like he’s thinking about the other night, is all the confirmation I need.
I look away quickly as my jaw clenches.
This was a mistake.
Coming to this bar, knowing he’d be here, just days after doing something we never should’ve done, was a fucking mistake. He’s my son’s best friend, and I’m old enough to be his dad. This isn’t me. I’m not careless, I don’t make rash decisions, and I definitely don’t think with my dick. This is a line I never should’ve crossed, but my body doesn’t seem to care about what I should or shouldn’t be doing.
And now that the line has been crossed, I don’t know how to pretend it never happened. Especially because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, there’s this pull, this undeniable heat, between us that’s stronger than anything I’ve felt before.
Fuck, I need some air.
Standing, I toss back the rest of my drink, then weave through the crowd until I reach the exit. Exhaling the breath I’ve been holding as the night chill hits my face, I shove my hands into my pockets and walk around the side of the building. Even though it’s packed inside, the outside is relatively empty and quiet, much to my relief.
“Where are you runnin’ off to?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the sound of his voice. I watch in my periphery as Remington approaches me, but I don’t look at him.I can’t.“Go back inside, Remington.”
He groans, stopping in front of me and folding his arms over his chest. “You know how much I love hearin’ you say my name like that, Daddy Moore.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” he asks, and when I lift my gaze, he’s wearing an innocent smile that makes my stomach twist.
“Go back inside. You’ve got no business bein’ out here with me.”
Remington smirks as he reaches over, taking the Stetson off my head and putting it on his own. “Oh, but I think ya want me out here,” he drawls, flicking the brim of the hat.
I grit my teeth and say nothing.
“You know what they say…” Taking a step toward me, Remington presses his palms into the wall on either side of my head and leans in, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” My heart jumps to my throat as a tingle travels down my spine. “And I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a great idea right about now.”
Jesus Christ.
“Knock it off,” I grit out before shoving him back. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Remington? The other night at the studio was a mistake. This”—I gesture between us—“isn’t happenin’. Am I makin’ myself clear?”
Remington huffs a small chuckle. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he says. “Tell me you haven’t been makin’ eyes at me from across the room all night, and I’ll walk away and leave you alone.”
