Page 48 of We Drank the Dawn

“I wanted to introduce myself. You’ve got a lot of numbers to sort through and I didn’t want mine to get lost in the mix.”

Peter blinked, momentarily stunned. “Oh. I’m—Peter.”

Oh no. It was the first time I’d heard him talk. And he was wasted. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he suddenly passed out or spewed all over the hardwood floor. One of his hands gripped the table top for support.

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Georgia. Want a drink at the bar?”

“Yeah,” he said. Even his nod was sloppy and lazy. “That’d be great. You—might have’ta lead the—way.” He tapped himself on the temple, accidentally poking the corner of his eye. He blinked a few times. “I’m blind.”

She laughed as if that was crazy. “No, you’re not.”

“Really. I am.”

“So you can’t see me right now?”

“Nope.”

She pouted, her red bottom lip sticking out. “That’s sad because I look good tonight.”

“I bet so.” His throat bobbed on a thick swallow as if he was nauseous. “I—wish I could see you.”

Alright. I didn’t know Sarah very well, but she seemed like a good wife. And I felt complicit just standing here watching Peter make a fool of himself. I knew how shit like this ended. I’d been in Peter’s shoes about eight hundred times, and when you’re so wasted you can hardly talk, one thing follows the next until somehow you wake up in a house you don’t remember entering. Or the bed of a truck. Or the back of a car. With no pants, powder residue on your nose, and vomit chunks all over your t-shirt.

He wasn’t thinking right. That much was clear.

From the interactions I’d had with Peter, I’d pegged him pure as the driven snow. All the Thompsons were. None of them dallied in stuff like this. None of them partied and got crazy. What happened? Why was Peter here?

She giggled behind her hands. “Do you look at things by touching them? I think I saw a movie one time where a blind person did that.”

Peter laughed. “I don’t really—but I can.”

She pressed closer as her voice fell. “You’re welcome to look your way.”

Peter laughed, the sound bubbly and interrupted by a hiccup. “My wife—might not like that.”

Her brows shot sky high with a disbelieving laugh. “Your wife? Are you married?”

Peter lifted his left hand and touched his wedding ring as if to confirm his relationship status. “Yeah—I think so.”

“She’s not here, is she?”

“Nope.”

“Well, good.” She smiled, undeterred. “We can still have some fun then.”

It occurred to me that my shots were probably waiting on the bar, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the train wreck unfolding in slow motion before me.

I’d be lying if I called myself some sort of upstanding citizen. Moral uprightness didn’t come natural to me. I’d done a thousand and one terrible things I regretted, and I’d most likely do more. But I knew basic right and wrong. And Peter flirting with a woman in the middle of a bar definitely fell into the wrong category. He had a woman to flirt with and her name was Sarah.

Fueled by an unexpected burst of anger, I grabbed the back of Peter’s collar and yanked him backward, stealing his chance to respond to her offer. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re going home.”

Red Dress frowned.

Peter stumbled back, losing his balance so thoroughly that I had to catch him. Holding him steady by the shoulders, I hissed, “What are you doing, Peter?”

“Huh? What?”

I rolled my eyes. Peter wouldn’t recognize his own name at this point. He needed to go back to the ranch now. My gaze flitted over the cowboys, debating if anyone was able to get behind a wheel. I only had one extra seat in the Ranger.