Bourbon Summer (Bourbon Canyon #6)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ruby

The evening was gorgeous. A light breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees, and behind them, pine trees reached into the air. The park was quiet, with a family at the far end on the playground. Every so often, joggers and bicyclists would cut down the walking path on the far side of the trees.

Tenor had some lantern-looking contraption that was supposed to keep the bugs away. It sat on the end of the picnic table. The spicy citrus smell of citronella emanated from it.

My hair ruffled in the breeze. He had a cowboy hat on and I was doing everything I could not to gawk at him. The hat kept his hair from falling against his face, making the hard cut of his cheekbones more visible. When he chewed, the muscles in his jaw flexed. The way he sat, his arms were bent and there was nothing but biceps. Could I just squeeze one and see if it was real?

“You have really big muscles,” I blurted. Wow. What a stupid thing to say. I couldn’t snatch the words back, so I kept my expression interested as if I hadn’t uttered the world’s worst pickup line.

He poked at his beef tips. “The summer after my junior year, I had a growth spurt. And then another. I’d always been on the tall side, but not this.” He waved at himself.

“I wish puberty had done that for me. All I got was a shiny forehead that photobombs every picture and Cara’s comments that abs are made in the kitchen and not on my couch.”

He stalled with his fork punched into a hunk of beef. “She said that?”

Among other things. My brain scrambled for a way to make me sound less cringey. “You’re very powerful. I’d love some of your muscles.”

“Don’t lose those curves, Ruby.”

A dart of desire went right to my heart and morphed into something warmer. Cozier.

His gaze was direct. “You’re just right, Goldilocks.”

If we were standing, I’d fling myself right into his arms like a spider monkey, arms and legs wrapped around him. I had needed to hear that, even if he didn’t mean it. He was only on a date with me because he felt sorry for me.

“I know this is hard to believe.” I couldn’t keep the faint sarcasm out of my voice. “But guys aren’t racing to get into my drawers.”

“They are. You just don’t see it.” He shoveled the rest of his food into his mouth and picked up his to-go containers. He dumped them back into the paper bag they’d come from.

My food was gone, so I did the same as him.

He took the bag and went to the bear-proofed-as-could-be trash bins and tossed everything inside. “Come on.”

Disappointment registered like a boulder sitting on top of my delicious chicken primavera.

A sneaky part of my brain insisted that Tenor just didn’t want to be seen with me. He’d told me his reasoning and it was awful. But really, I couldn’t shake the conviction that he just didn’t want to be saddled with a fake date. Regardless, I followed him like a good little girl.

When he turned the truck toward town instead of out of it, I frowned at him. “Where are you going?”

“To prove a point.” His eyes were narrowed behind those thick frames, and the rest of his profile was strong under his hat. He parked downtown. The coffee shop was across from us, closed for the night. The only places open downtown were the bars and I hadn’t been to any of them. The closest was Flatlanders Prohibited, two blocks away.

I tugged the hem of my skirt down. I wasn’t used to sitting right next to a guy while I wore it. The damn thing really did ride up. “I hate to say it, Tenor, but there’s no point getting proved.” Only that he could drive me anywhere and I’d go without question. Maybe one question, but seriously, I didn’t care about his answer.

“You’re going to go in first,” he said, pointing to Flatlanders.

“In the bar?” Pickups lined the curb in front, but the bar wasn’t as busy as Curly’s. Didn’t mean people wouldn’t stare and talk.

“Sit at the bar and order whatever you want,” he continued. “Then see if you even have to pay for that first drink, or any of the ones after.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You think I’m lying about the male attention you get. I think you’re oblivious.”

I wasn’t oblivious. I was practical. “Brock told me that ‘adorkable’ wasn’t sexy.”

“We’ve already established that Brock knows two things, and that’s jack and shit.”

I sputtered out a laugh. “Oh my god. No, we haven’t explicitly said that, but now that you have, I agree. Still... Cara’s beautiful and sophisticated. I’d date her if I didn’t know how toxic she was.”

“You’re hands down prettier than her.”

I drew back. “No, I’m not.” I looked like a rabid poodle on my best days. After college, I’d been terrified I wouldn’t land a marketing job because I didn’t market myself well. I wore clothing I liked, not what was in fashion. I knew what was in fashion. I could identify trends and then mimic them. But others would see me and wonder how in the world I could be together enough to run a social media page. The Baileys had taken a chance on me because I could identify patterns, what was working, and understand the algorithm. I’d been observing the world my whole life. Social media was turning those observations into posts.

Tenor clenched his jaw and tipped his hat toward the bar. “Go in first. Pretend you don’t notice me when I go in. I’ll sit in the corner.”

Uh, no. I would not be going into a bar to get ignored in front of the man I wished I could tempt the most. “I thought Scott Townsend hated the Baileys.” Wynter had filled me in when she’d given me the tour through town my first time in Bourbon Canyon.

“I heard he’s out of town this week, and this place attracts more single guys than couples, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue. You’ll probably get at least one drink from a guy with a wedding ring.”

Add that to the list of things I didn’t want to experience tonight. “Why are you so confident? I’m the one with history in this exact subject.”

“You’ve hung out at a lot of bars?” A gotcha glint lit the yellow in his eyes when he saw the answer on my face. “So when you went out, you were usually on a date?”

I knew what he was getting at, and I was ready to concede. Since I was digging my own humiliation hole, I’d add to it. “I read on my nights off, doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend or not. I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Let me know when you’re ready for one. We always have barn cats that are cuddle monsters.”

Figured he was a cat guy. Since he was so damn perfect already. “You can see I’m well on my way to cat-lady status. I’m not getting hit on in bars.”

“Prove it.”

Something inside me woke to the challenge. “Fine. But you’re going to have to, like... fake date me even harder to make up for this.”

His pupils dilated. My cheeks were on fire. What—the hell—had I just said?

He leaned over the console. “If I’m right, you’re going to have to wear a skirt every night you’re at my house and I’m not even going to hide how much I like checking out your legs.”

He sounded serious, as if he couldn’t wait for the next skirt I wore.

I had a closet full of them.

If I did this, I’d either get more unofficial dates with Tenor, or I’d get him admiring my body? “It’s a deal.”

“I don’t take bets I’m going to lose,” he warned. “Get your sweet ass in there, Ruby, and show them whatcha got.”

Shivers zinged down my spine. I got out and added a little sway to my ass, the hem of my skirt kicking at my legs. The sun was sinking in the horizon, but the night was still young.

Free drinks. As if. The only time I’d gotten a free drink was when a barista had given me the wrong order in a drive-through and I’d already taken a sip.

Once I stepped inside the dim bar, my bravery faltered. The place was half-full and people turned to look at me. Lots of men. Tenor had been right about that.

I lifted my chin. That was all he was right about.

As I made my way to the counter, the irony came into clear view. Why did I want the guy who was dating me out of pity to be wrong about how desirable I was?

I climbed onto a round stool. The top squeaked as I swiveled. A faint scent of mustiness lingered under the damp smell of hops and old wood. This establishment had to be decades old and it had definitely seen better days.

The bartender looked to be a few years older than me. He was several inches shorter than Tenor, but he was good-looking enough. A little too similar to Brock for my taste.

He propped a hand on the top of the bar and his gaze dipped down to my boobs. “What can I get you?”

“Bourbon and?—”

“We don’t carry Copper Summit,” he said to my chest. “If that’s what you’re wanting.”

I was nothing if not loyal. “I don’t want lower-quality bourbon.” One blond brow ticked up, and I smiled sweetly. “How ’bout a Malibu and Coke?”

He patted the countertop and walked away. Behind the bar, bottles of spirits were lined up. I was used to serving only bourbon, but my content-creation brain wouldn’t shut off. I could do some smoky bar shots. Could I talk one of the Bailey brothers into being the fuzzy image in the mirror? The hint of handsomeness that was behind the bourbon. I could easily picture it with any of the brothers, but I’d rather see Tenor. My own personal post.

The door opened and a spear of fading light stabbed across the floor. A big shadow darkened the room again. Tenor. It took all my restraint not to look. From the way my body flushed, I knew I was right.

His heavy footfalls faded into the corner of the bar. I wanted to look so badly, but I couldn’t without smiling and waving.

My drink slid in front of me. “That’ll be six dollars,” the bartender said to my chest.

Six dollars. A small part of me died inside. I was showing Tenor he was wrong and the shame burned hot. I didn’t intend to be a sexpot in life. I was happy with where I was and how I looked. I just hated how others could affect that.

I opened the top of my purse.

Someone slid onto a stool next to me. “I got it.”

Shocked, I gaped at the new arrival. He was probably in his thirties, wearing a white T-shirt with a flying pig on it. I couldn’t make out the words, or I’d be as bad as the bartender. The man’s ball cap was grungy and not in a faux-worn sort of way. From his glassy eyes, he was likely a few drinks into the night.

I almost told him it was fine, but I had made a bet. I also might lose my feminist card, but it felt good to have my drink paid for. “Thank you.”

I took a sip. My Coke was the lightest brown I’d ever seen. Didn’t the bar owners realize soda was cheaper than rum?

The new arrival stuck his hand out. “Travis.”

“Ru—” Did I want to give my real name? People might not know me, but I also didn’t want them to remember me. I wasn’t sure how this night would end. “Just Rue.” I took a big gulp to fortify my nerves.

I was so out of my element.

Travis’s brown eyes twinkled. “Well, just Rue. You from here?”

I snorted. “You must not be if you have to ask.”

“You got me.” The corners of his eyes crinkled and a slow grin spread across his face.

Oh god. He thought I was flirting. I’d been serious. If he was from Bourbon Canyon, he’d likely know he hadn’t seen me at the grocery store or in church or grabbing a coffee, no matter our age difference.

“I’m not from here either,” he admitted.

I sucked down half my glass. Tenor’s attention bored into me, all smoky heat, igniting a spark in my belly and traveling lower. The feeling wasn’t Malibu fueled, though that wasn’t helping.

“Whatcha doing in town?” He leaned closer.

I inched away. “Uh . . . work.”

The bartender slid another pale-brown drink in front of me. “Malibu Coke from the gentleman at the end of the bar.” He lifted his chin toward the side closest to where Tenor was sitting.

I looked, but my gaze skipped over the guy a little closer to my age than Travis. Behind him, Tenor was tucked into a booth, glowering into his phone. He appeared oblivious to everything around him, but I knew better.

The second guy who’d bought my drink smiled.

“Th-thank you.” Two drinks in less than ten minutes?

Were there no other women in town?

Tenor had been right. The only other ladies in the bar were playing pool with a couple of guys. A group of three men older than my dad sat behind me in a booth, and the rest were pairs of men and a few singles, in addition to those who’d forked over cash for my Malibu Cokes.

I was prime rib at a hot dog stand. I giggled like a middle school boy. Hot dog was the worst analogy. The second guy must’ve thought I was smiling at him. He grinned wider.

“You know him?” Travis’s whiskey-scented breath wafted across the shell of my ear.

I leaned a little farther away. Tenor hadn’t looked up. I dragged my gaze off him. “No, I don’t.” When I twisted to face forward, I nudged him hard with my shoulder. He didn’t back off very far.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel like prime rib. I was a lame zebra on the Serengeti.

I was a slow duckling with eagles flying overhead.

A sick deer surrounded by coyotes.

Should I be astonished or insulted? Tenor had been right. But then I was almost the only game in the place.

A couple of women stumbled into the bar, laughing. Each one wore tiny jean shorts and cropped tees. Their long hair covered more than their shirt. One of the girls smiled and waved at the guys in the booth. They took the table in front of Tenor, surreptitiously checking him out, but he never glanced up.

Instead of tracking the new arrivals, the guy who’d bought the second drink picked up his bottle of beer and moved to the stool on the other side of me. “Have we met before?”

Was he seriously asking, or was that a pickup line? Would I have wondered before Tenor had made me try this stupid experiment?

Still, it was just two guys, and there were the new arrivals with their booty shorts that would surely get all the men’s attention. I might still prove Tenor wrong.