Page 93 of When The Mountains Held Us

“No fucking way! Levi, you dirty dog, you.”

I roll my eyes and give him a sideways glance. “Oh, shut up.”

Justin rubs his hands together gleefully and turns to face me fully, his ass practically bouncing off the seat with excitement. “Tell me everything. I want a play-by-play.”

“What, so you can jerk off to it later?” I tease. “No, thank you.”

Justin pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. He actually pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“Sorry, brother.” I don’t mean a word of my apology. We drive in comfortable silence for a while and, as I always do, I relish the wind whipping through the windows and the feel of my truck rumbling down the old country backroad.

“So… how are you feeling about all of it?”

It’s such a simple question, but the weight of what he’s asking hangs heavy in the air. I don’t mind it. He may be a complete goofball at times, but he’s got an uncanny way of asking these open-ended questions that make me want to tell him everything.

“It feels good. Right. Like everything up until this point has been building and building until we couldn’t hold it back anymore. It’s more freeing than I expected it to be,” I admit.

Justin nods his understanding. “Does she know about your dad?”

“She does. I told her last night. I didn’t go into a lot of detail, though. It wasn’t the right time. But she listened without judgment and had some really good things to say.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I think a part of me was worried it would scare her away.” I could see it the moment we saw each other last night. The moment her shoulders relaxed like she knew she was home. With me. And later still, even after she’d given all of herself to me, I saw it in the way she gently challenged everything I’d been fearing my entire life.

“I think you’ve got something special with her. Don’t fuck it up.” His words are light, but their implication is heavy.

“I won’t.” My response is more than empty words spoken between friends in a truck.

It’s a solemn promise—one I’m going to fight like hell to keep.

Forty-Five

Oakley

The bar is busy tonight. College kids gather in clusters around the dim space, throwing back shots and conversing boisterously in a last hurrah before the school year starts up next week. There’s a good mix of the older crowd in here tonight, too. The waning summer sun seems to have coaxed everyone out of their mundane nights in search of a little fun.

“Can we have another round of Vegas bombs?” A petite brunette with dazzling blue eyes and cherry red lips drawls her order across the bar.

I grab a shaker and the bottle of Crown Royal and begin working on the shots. Pop country music blares through the crackling speakers, and I watch the line dancing that’s currently taking place in the center of the veneer dance floor. It looks fun. A few weeks ago, I never would have noticed it, too lost in my own worries and thoughts to pay any mind to something as simple as dancing. Does Levi know how to line dance? Maybe he’ll teach me.

My mind has flitted back to those emerald eyes more times than I can count over the course of the night, my thoughts consumed with the way they looked down at me in adoration and longing as he thrust inside me last night. Or was that this morning? Truth be told, we got very little sleep, the night blurring into morning in a tangle of limbs and heated breaths. Both of us desperate to cling to this new version of us that, once the dam broke, there was no stopping the flood of desire that flowed out.

I push the shots across the bar to the brunette, who takes them with a thanks and a smile and hands over her card before passing them out to the group of friends surrounding her. They suck them down with a cheers, and I toss the card, pen, and receipt on the bartop in front of her before moving on to the next group flagging me down.

It’s just me tonight, and though I could have used a little bit of help behind the bar, especially when I had to run and change the keg out myself, as well as restock the Miller Lite in the cooler, I’m happy I won’t have to share any of my tips. In all honesty, it feels good to work like this, my mind laser-focused on each task as I move methodically through the motions. Still though, the clock on the wall seems to move at a snail’s pace, and all I want is to get back home to Levi.

He texted me back earlier to let me know he’d be in later tonight, but I still haven’t seen him yet. My eyes keep glancing to the front door, each squeak of the rusty hinges causing a kernel of hope to flail in my chest, only for it to extinguish when it’s not him walking through it. I haven’t had a chance to look at my phone all night to see if he texted me again, but I’m too consumed with the task at hand to read too far into the fact that I haven’t felt it buzz in my back pocket either.

The doors open again, and I glance up from the mixed drink I’m making long enough to know that it’s not Levi who walks in. The generic mess of blonde hair poking out from underneath a baseball cap is all I need to turn my attention back to the drink in front of me.

The next two hours pass with little fanfare, the patrons growing more rowdy as the drinks flow and the night drags on. In the back corner of the bar, a couple is making out, the woman pressed up against a man that leans against the wall, their tongues wagging out of their mouths as they try to eat the other’s face off. I can practically see the saliva swapping between them in the midst of their drunken make-out session, and I grimace, quickly averting my eyes.

A flash of movement catches my attention in my periphery, and I sigh at the way the man drums his fingers along the bartop impatiently.

“What can I get you?” I ask, my voice betraying my exhaustion, though I do my best to keep my tone light.

“I thought that was you.”