Chapter 7 #3
“Yup.” Shayne leans back so far on his barstool I’m scared he’s about to fall over. “All will be well again once today is in the rear-view mirror.”
“You sure you’re not upset because I made you dress up and take a bunch of pictures with horny strangers?”
Shayne lets out a deep rumble of laughter. “Technically Kody made me dress up. And those horny strangers were the only bright spots in a very shit day. So, thank you, Banshee, for giving me the opportunity to Fae-play.” He clinks his beer bottle against my glass.
“You’ve really latched on to that nickname.” I take a gulp of my beer.
“It suits you. You’ve got a lot of rage simmering under that skin of yours.” Shayne shifts in his seat to face me, and our knees bump up against each other.
“Me? Rage-filled? You must have someone else in mind.”
“I know I’ve only been here a short while, but I’m pretty sure there’s only one hauntingly beautiful woman with a broken heart stirring up trouble after the sun goes down in these parts.”
I take another swig of my beer to hide the smile that comes unbidden to my lips. A hauntingly beautiful woman, eh? Any warm body sitting six inches from him would be ‘hauntingly beautiful’ with that amount of alcohol running through his system. The way I see it, there are three options here:
I jump him. Now. Sex would be mediocre at best given beer intake. I’m too sober for this choice. Also feels grossly exploitative. Hard pass.
I remove my one-beer rule and try to get on his level. Bad decisions are made. Sex is immemorable. Terrible idea.
I put my beer down, settle Shayne’s tab, drive him to wherever he’s staying. Then I go home. Alone.
Shayne is still staring at me while I run through my pathetic list. His eyes are filled with amusement, and I immediately assume I have something on my face.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, rubbing my chin to make sure I don’t have any leftover pastry flakes on me from tonight’s appetizers.
“You. Your face is a like a roadmap to what’s going on in there,” he says, tapping my forehead lightly with his finger, a move I am almost certain he wouldn’t have attempted sober. Shayne doesn’t come off as the ‘boop’ type.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks, standing. He smiles slyly and offers me his hand.
Shayne isn’t an angry drunk. Drunk Shayne is kind of a goober.
Considering the song playing is a country song about dying man asking his friend to feed his dog, and all of my dancing is done alone around my living room—the answer is no, I do not want to dance. However, my body is a traitor and takes Shayne’s hand.
He pulls me away from the bar towards the center of the room.
The couple at the pool table have disappeared, so it’s just us and the bartender, who has abandoned all pretense and is scrolling away on his phone.
Shayne puts his hands around my waist as I slide mine up to his shoulders.
I’d have to crick my neck up to look him in the eyes, which feels creepy, so I really don’t have any other choice than resting my head against his chest. We sway slowly to the music for a while like that.
“I really am sorry for the other night, Paige,” he says, his voice low.
“You don’t have to apologize. I was being way oversensitive…”
“I overstepped. I know Jo and Andy are your friends and I respect that.”
The song playing has changed to a pop song with a much higher tempo, but we continue to sway slowly, both of us pulling what we need from each other’s arms.
Then, a couple of songs later, the bartender clears his throat loudly, and the spell is broken.
Shayne and I pull apart. I feel shy, suddenly unsure of what to do next.
Shayne heads back to the bar to close his tab, so I go wait outside and kick gravel in the parking lot. A light mist has descended over the town, making everything look muted as if the street has been covered in a gauzy film.
What an insane day! Pages had its biggest author event yet, and it went off without a hitch (despite my best efforts to screw things up), I met a literary hero (who was lovely), and I somehow ended the night slow-dancing with an inebriated cowboy (who is a dreamboat).
The bar door swings open just as the neon cactus switches off, and I find myself plunged into darkness.
I can barely make out Shayne’s shape as he heads towards me, reminding me of our very first meeting, when he was just a shapeless voice in the void.
“Nice of you to wait for me,” he says, giving me a slow smile that makes me want to melt into a puddle.
“I had to. I never thanked you for the beer.”
Shayne waves me off. “Don’t mention it.”
“Do you need a ride home? You’re staying at Jo’s, right?
” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too eager to be his designated knight-in-sober-armor.
I don’t know where he’s staying. Jo has a cabin she occasionally rents out to her seasonal workers, but I haven’t asked her yet if she’s letting Shayne use the place.
“Yes, I’m staying at Jo’s cabin. And I’d appreciate that ride,” he says.
“Where’s your truck?”
“I hitched into town with Spike on his way home. My goal was to end tonight very, very drunk. Mission accomplished,” Shayne says, swaying slightly. As if I needed any more proof that he is thoroughly sauced.
“You’re lucky I felt like avoiding my sad, lonely house for a little bit longer than usual tonight.” There it is. Open mouth, insert foot. Sad, lonely house? Why not re-introduce yourself as Silvercreek’s resident Old Maid.
Shayne laughs long and hard. “Your face is a miracle. I could almost hear the conversation you just had with yourself.”