But, yeah, there was no chance of me skipping a chance to dance with Tristan.
Seeing him here was completely unexpected, and after our last encounter, I was hoping for more time to get over these stupid feelings I keep having for him. A month or two isn’t too much to ask. I went six months before seeing him on the side of the road—I don’t know what a girl has to do to get a stretch like that again.
A cooling-off period.
One where I can get my head straight and not think of his brown eyes, that thick dark hair that he pushes back before slipping his hat on, and that fucking scruff. God, I’d like to ride that.
Ugh.
Not what you should be thinking about, Lark.
Ryan shakes his head. “I get that he was nice to you—once—but that doesn’t erase the years of horrible shit they’ve done.”
Considering I already stepped in it with Ryan, reminding him of his own mistakes, I let that go and do my best to look contrite. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll skip him.”
Deacon huffs out a long sigh and then clasps Ryan’s shoulder. “Come on. We got shit to do early tomorrow. I don’t feel like hanging out anymore.”
Which is Deacon talk for…I’m not mature enough to be in the same room as a Stone.
Ridiculous.
Ryan looks to Suzanne. “You got her?”
Suzanne grins. “Of course.”
They both leave, and she turns to me. “Wow.”
“Yeah, way to help the situation,” I grumble.
“What did you want me to do?”
“I don’t know, distract them or something.”
She laughs. “Your brother is a professional at pretending I don’t exist.”
“Yes, because he’s in love with you,” I remind her.
“Whatever. He has a horrible way of showing it,” Suzanne says, staring after their retreating forms.
She’s loved him just as long, but the two of them refuse to make a move. It’s honestly one of the most frustrating things I’ve ever watched. At this point, though, I’m done encouraging them. They’re adults—they can figure it out.
I glance around, pretending that I’m not looking for Tristan, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Let’s get a drink,” I suggest. Maybe it’ll help clear my head.
One drink turns into six, because the one thing my best friends do not have is restraint. So the three of us laugh, spin each other around on the dance floor, and continue to toss back various types of liquor.
“We’re going to be so sick,” Mary Lou says with a snort. “Like, fuck-my-life kind of sick.”
I laugh as she turns me, since I forgot that part of the dance. “I can’t feel my tongue.”
“Oh God.” Suzanne snorts a laugh. “Let’s…sit and get water.”
“Water is good,” Mary Lou agrees.
She’s right, but that’s not what I say. “Tequila is better!”
We each grab hands, making a train and heading back to the table, overcome with a fit of giggles, but we don’t fall.
