And next thing I know, they’re dancing. Not casual dancing. Close dancing.
The kind where his hand settles on her waist like he’s placed it there many times before.
I feel something unpleasant twist in my chest.
Cabe follows my gaze. He leans back in his chair and lets out a low whistle. “And another one bites the dust.”
Waylon chuckles beside him. “Looks that way.”
My head snaps back toward them. “What?”
Bryce clasps my shoulder. “It’s okay, man.”
I stare at him.
“No one at this table has the right to talk,” he continues. “Except maybe Cabe.”
Cabe lifts a finger. “That’s right.”
Bryce shakes his head. “But he’s one of them,” he adds, “so he doesn’t count.”
“Hey!” Cabe protests.
Waylon laughs.
I look at all three of them slowly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Right then, the server returns with backup. Two more girls follow behind her, carrying trays.
They drop glasses onto the table.
Beer. Whiskey.
Shot glasses of tequila.
A ridiculous number of libations.
The server sets my scotch down in front of me.
“Anything else?” she asks.
Bryce waves a hand. “We’re good.”
She nods and walks away again.
Waylon picks up one of the shot glasses and lifts it toward me. “You might not have any idea now, but you will by the end of the night.”
Then he tosses it back in one smooth motion.
Bryce and Cabe follow suit.
I stare down at the shot in front of me for a beat.
Then sigh quietly and pick it up.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
The tequila burns all the way down.
