Chapter Colt
Colt
Staring at Whit feels mandatory. How could it not be when she strolls into a dive bar wearing a short black dress and thigh-high black boots?
I was expecting her to show up in the same outfit she was wearing earlier today.
She still would’ve been the hottest girl in this place, no question.
But now? Guys are going to be clambering over each other to get a whiff of her perfume.
I should’ve bitten the bullet and kissed her earlier.
I had a feeling she rushed me out of the house because she felt the magnetic pull between us—assuring me she would take ages to drop off Jonas, and there was no sense in waiting for her to come back.
Damn it, I shouldn’t have listened. Betty and I should’ve parked our asses in my truck and waited for her.
Instead, I’m at the bar as Whit’s friend. A title every guy in here is suddenly vying for, based on the way all eyes are on her.
“How’s it going?” Denny says, helping Blair into the large, curved booth and sliding in after.
“You guys left the birthday girl to buy her own drinks?”
Blair’s head swivels. “I thought she was right behind us.”
I nod my head toward the bar, where Whit’s nervously fidgeting with her small black crossbody bag as she waits in line. “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.”
I’m already up and weaving through bodies on the sticky bar floor.
“Bet you do,” Denny calls out, voice dulled by the roar of the live band and the buzzing of neon lights.
I sashay up beside her, butting out a biker dude who looks to be in his late fifties.
She still hasn’t seen me, so I lean in until my chin’s nearly resting on her shoulder, and say her name over the blaring music.
The move makes her tense for a beat, but when she recognizes my voice, everything relaxes with an easy smile sweeping across her face.
“Birthday girls aren’t supposed to buy their own drinks. I know you don’t frequent bars, but that’s kinda common sense. What are you getting?”
“I don’t…” She scans the shelves behind the bar, hand wound tight around her purse strap. “I don’t know. I usually drink wine at home, but that doesn’t really fit the vibe here. What are you having?”
“I’m having water. I bet you’d enjoy sex on the beach.” I shrug one shoulder.
Despite the dim lighting and neon green glow, I can see her cheeks turn a pastel shade to pink. The muscles in her jaw twitch when she looks up at me and swallows.
“There aren’t any beaches around here.”
I wink at her. “I meant the drink.”
There she goes rubbing at that tiny crease in her forehead. “Oh, God. Duh. Um, sure…I’ll try that.”
A minute or so later, Whit’s got a drink in hand, and we’re weaving through the bar patrons back to the booth.
My hand naturally finds a home on her back, guiding her ahead of me through the crowd, and it slips away as we approach our friends.
To my surprise, Kate and Jackson showed up in the short time we were gone, and Kate must’ve had some drinks on the drive here, because her glassy eyes are jumping hurriedly between Whit and me.
“Hey, guys. Didn’t know you were coming.” I stand off to the edge, waiting for Whit to slide into her spot, and then I take my spot next to her. Right next to her.
“When Austin and Cecily didn’t immediately say no to babysitting, we jumped at the opportunity to have a night out,” Kate says.
Denny shoots a finger gun at both her and Whit. “Kid-free night calls for shots, I think.”
Any occasion calls for shots, where Denny’s concerned.
Nobody has time to disagree before he’s bolting toward the bar, returning shortly after with a tray of shots. The three ladies hesitate, with Blair giving Denny a nasty look when she sniffs the small shot glass in front of her.
“Tequila? Really?” She turns her nose up with a grimace. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this ends badly.”
Whit can’t help herself from looking around the bar every thirty seconds.
I don’t know what the hell happened previously to have her so afraid of gossip, but I lean in and assure her that nobody in the place knows who she is.
And with that, she clinks her shot glass against Kate’s and downs the tequila with a wince.
For a while, we sit around and talk about the ranch, Blair’s broken leg situation, my shitty pickup, and the fat, shirtless man grinding against a life-size cardboard cutout of Daisy Duke in the far corner.
That is, until a couple tequila shots in, when Kate shoves Whit in the shoulder, knocking her into me. “Let’s go dance, Whit.”
“Oh, I don’t know…I’m not really a dancer.” Whit’s nose scrunches adorably.
“Don’t be so modest,” I say under my breath for only her to hear. “You have a great scuba diver move.”
She glares at me, then quickly scans the room. I know exactly what her hesitation is, and it has nothing to do with whether she enjoys dancing or not.
“Mama, not a soul here knows you, except the people at this table. Quit worrying so much about what the losers in this bar are going to think.”
“We’re losers in this bar,” she quips.
“Exactly. And you definitely shouldn’t give a single shit what I think. Who am I to judge?”
She smirks. “That’s true. After all, you thought a ‘Show me your Kitties’ shirt was a good choice tonight.”
“Hey. Either somebody pulls out a cat picture, or they misread it and show me their tits. It’s the perfect shirt to wear to a bar.
But the fun part is, I don’t care what anybody in here thinks about my shirt.
” That’s a lie. For the first time in my life, I care about one person’s opinion—Whit’s.
“You should try not giving a fuck. It’s fun. ”
Whit tilts her head to imply that I’m stupid, and Kate interrupts with a loud sigh. “Come on. It’s your birthday.”
After giving me a once-over, Whit says, “Okay. Fine.”
I’ve barely had the chance to get out of the way before Whit and Kate clamber out of the booth.
“Sorry, Blair. I wish you could join us,” Kate says.
“C’mon. You can still dance with a broken ankle, baby.” Denny grabs Blair’s hand, yanking her from her seat, and he hauls her out to the dance floor. Both arms around her, he keeps Blair steady as she traverses the floor with one working leg.
The four of them are laughing and dancing, and something twinges in my chest at the sight of other guys drooling over an oblivious Whit and Kate.
I turn to Jackson. “Doesn’t it make you mad as hell to see other dudes staring at your wife like that?”
Jackson presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Nah, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll keep their distance. I’d be a lot more worried if the roles were reversed. One time a woman got a little too touchy-feely when she was talking to me, and Kate got herself kicked out of the bar.”
“Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” I pretend to laugh, sipping my water; meanwhile my brain’s slowly turning into something resembling half-set Jell-O.
They’re openly gawking now, and it’s disgusting.
And infuriating. And maybe it’s because I’m too sober to ignore drunken men’s shenanigans, but I’ve never felt the need to fight anybody at a bar before now.
I drag my hand along my jawline, scraping my callused fingers over my facial hair, and dig my heels into the floor.
I’m ready to throw myself halfway across the room at a moment’s notice, if needed.
A guy approaches Whit and leans close to say something. Her laughter rains fire on my skin, and my nails bite into the faux-leather seat. I don’t blink. I don’t move. I wait for her to be the one to tell him off….
The guy’s tall and hunky, clean-shaven and wearing city-slicker clothes. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But goddamn it, watching him slide his arm around Whit and lull her lithe body into a slow sway has my stomach churning. Anger grows deep in my bones. Jealousy settles into every fiber of my being.
That was supposed to be me. Everything is supposed to be different—I was going to tell Whit I like her, ask her on a proper date, feel the warmth of her body under my hands on the dance floor. I thought it was meant to be me out there with her.
And now that it’s not, the building’s collapsing in on me, and my lungs are shaky, and I can hear my blood pressure in my ears.
Jackson reaches over and lays his palm over my forearm. “Bud, it’s not worth fighting him over. It’s just a dance.”
Real easy for a guy to say when he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his girl is leaving with him tonight. I might’ve encouraged Whit to let her hair down, but I wasn’t implying that she should hook up with a random guy.
My heel bounces on the liquor-soaked bar floor, sticking slightly with every jittery tap. Something about the pulsing lights and the sultry rock music coming from the live band and the slow slide of this douchebag’s hand onto Whit’s ass pushes me to the edge.
In a flurry of motion, vision hazed, I make my way to where this dude is grinding his nasty crotch against my future wife.
I give him a friendly tap on the shoulder. Some dudes—like Red, if he were here—would swing first and ask questions second. Yet no matter how thick the jealousy running through my veins is, I can’t find it in me to start a fight like that. “Hey, man. I’m gonna dance with my girlfriend now.”
He raises a brow, calling me out.
“Whit.” I stare at her. “You wanna tell him to fuck off? Or do I need to handle this?”
The guy snorts, hands falling away from Whit’s waist. “Might want to keep your girlfriend on a tighter leash next time.”
“What the hell, Colt?” Whit yells above the music. That cute line in her forehead is prominent now.
“You wanted him rubbing his dick all over you?”
“Dancing.” She gestures to the other couples who are dangerously close to having sex on the dance floor. “That’s what that was.”
“I guess I missed the announcement that this was becoming a sex club at ten p.m.”
She scoffs, arms tensing in preparation to slap me, most likely. “What is wrong with you?”
Strobe lights glimmer and streak across her angry face, and the live band switches to something even more sexual. Seems I came in at the exact moment I needed to.
“That guy was seconds from blowing it in his pants,” I say.
“So what?”
“So what? You don’t care?”
Her nostrils flare. “Why do you?”
“Why do you think?”
For a few too many heartbeats, the quiet question hangs in the loud space between us.
She finally opens her mouth, arms gesturing wildly at the mess of gyrating bodies around us. “Look around. See how none of my other friends give a shit who I’m dancing with or what his intentions are?”
Right. Because none of them are struggling to cope with an insatiable crush on you. If you would take one damn second to notice it. Notice me.
“Then they’re assholes.”
“You’re the one being an asshole, Colt.” She brushes past me, heading for the bar. The only upside to pissing her off is the view of her ass as she walks away.
Of course, I follow. I’m not about to let her go anywhere alone. And that’s even more true when I see Whit shimmy between a group of girls entering the bar—disappearing outside by herself.
“Fucking hell,” I murmur to myself. “This woman.”
It takes a moment longer for me to get around the already-drunk bachelorette party than it took Whit, and when I step outside, she’s nowhere to be found.