But apparently I'm not a smart woman, because I find myself wondering if I should go back to the bar.
It's not the brightest idea. He'll probably be there, dancing with some other woman, proving that last night meant nothing to him. That I was just convenient. Interchangeable.
But maybe... maybe I could explain. Tell him why I ran. Apologize for leaving him like that, even though he probably doesn't care. And maybe, just maybe, I want to see him again.
He was a light in the dark. A distraction from the wreckage of my life. And right now, that's exactly what I need.
Because the alternative is staying here, alone, thinking about Derek and Jessica. And they're definitely not sulking right now. They're probably celebrating. Finally free to be together without me in the way. Probably fucking in our bed, their bed now, without having to sneak around.
The thought makes my chest tight and my eyes burn.
Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck sitting here feeling sorry for myself.
I'm going back to that bar. Even if it's stupid. Even if I make a fool of myself. Even if he's already forgotten I exist. At least I'll be doing something instead of drowning in ice cream and self-pity. I stand up, toss the empty container in the trash, and head for the shower.
Time to see if lightning can strike twice.
Chapter 4 - Colt
Another Friday night. Another trip to the Blackwater Falls Saloon. Another round of drinks and dancing and women who smile at me like I'm exactly what they've been waiting for.
Except tonight, I'm bored out of my fucking mind.
I'm on my third beer, standing at the bar, watching the same crowd doing the same things they do every weekend. Sarah the bartender is flirting with anyone who tips well. The jukebox is playing the same rotation of country songs it's been playing for the past decade.
And I feel nothing.
"Hey, cowboy." A blonde sidles up next to me, all curves and confidence in a tight dress. Pretty. Available. Exactly my type on any other night. "Buy a girl a drink?"
I should say yes. Should turn on the charm, buy her a drink, get her on the dance floor, and forget about the mystery woman who ran out on me last night. That's what the old Colt would do. What I've always done.
But instead, I just nod toward Sarah. "Whatever she's having."
The blonde's smile widens. "You're sweet. I'm Amber."
"Colt."
"I know." She leans in, her perfume heavy and floral, nothing like the subtle scent the mystery woman wore. "Everyone knows Colt Sullivan."
Great. My reputation precedes me.
Sarah brings Amber's drink. Some fruity thing with too many cherries and Amber takes it with a smile that promises thingsI'm not sure I want anymore. We make small talk. She laughs at my jokes. Touches my arm. Does all the things that usually work.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
"Dance with me?" she asks, tilting her head in that way women do when they think they're being cute.
I should say no. Should tell her I'm not in the mood, save us both the trouble. But what else am I going to do? Stand here drinking alone, thinking about a woman I'll probably never see again?
"Sure," I say, and let her lead me to the dance floor.
The song is upbeat, something with a good rhythm, and Amber knows how to move. She presses close, running her hands up my chest, swaying her hips in a way that's designed to get a reaction. And yeah, she's attractive. Yeah, her body feels good against mine.
But it's not the same.
It's not soft curves that made me want to grab and squeeze. It's not amber eyes that looked at me like I was both salvation and sin. It's not dimples that appeared when she smiled, rare and beautiful.
It's not her.
