Chapter 18 – Clay
Rex’s Rodeo House Bar is too damn loud for my taste.
The front of the place is styled like a classic saloon, but the back opens into a massive warehouse the owners built to fit half the town—anyone from their twenties to their sixties—looking to kick back, drink, and have a good time.
Two mechanical bulls sit at the far end, a band plays cover songs at the front, and the floor is packed with line dancers breaking it down to upbeat country hits.
I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve spent here with my brothers and friends, but since cutting out alcohol and women, the place doesn’t have the same appeal that it used to.
I used to be the life of the party—either leading the charge onto the dance floor or buying the first round of beers at the bars that litter the perimeter.
But those days now feel like a lifetime ago.
Honestly, I’m not sure why my brother picked this place for his date night with Stevie, other than the fact that there’s not much else to do in town without driving all the way to San Angelo.
“You drinking tonight?” Wylie asks, nudging me while fully knowing that I’ve quit.
“Nah, but I can pick up the first round for you two.”
Stevie flashes me a smile and a thumbs up as I make my way to the bar, my mind drifting to the mystery woman she’s set me up with and how much I’d rather be anywhere but here tonight.
The thought of needing a date for Savannah’s wedding grates at me. The thought of even going to this wedding is still pissing me off. But I’m not a dick, and if Wylie’s RSVP’d me plus one, then I don’t want to skip out.
Three tall pours of Bud later, one for my blind date, I’m headed back to the couple who’ve claimed a stand-up table right on the edge of the line dancing, watching the band play a rendition of Shania Twain’s ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman!’
“You couldn’t have picked a classier place to take your wife tonight?” I elbow Wylie playfully.
“We’ve got history here,” he winks.
I don’t know what that history is, but I can already tell it’s something gross.
Stevie perks up, waving excitedly over my shoulder at someone who’s just walked into the bar.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that diving back into dating eventually was inevitable. I couldn’t keep cutting out everything—dating, sex, and alcohol—as some kind of punishment while I trained. Eventually, something had to give.
When I finally turn to greet her, I'm relieved that I don’t recognize her.
She’s tall, with long, pin-straight blonde hair and striking blue eyes, sliding up to our group with a confident grin.
She’s pretty, sure, but she doesn’t have Maggie’s gentle eyes, wide smile, or that infectious, bouncy energy that seems to follow her wherever she goes.
“Clay, this is Everly. She’s here in town on a nursing contract,” Stevie introduces.
“Nice to meet you, Clay.” Everly extends a hand to shake mine and I meet hers with a firm shake.
“Likewise,” I slide the extra Bud light I’d purchased her way, “Hope you like beer?”
She wrinkles her straight nose slightly, “Not really my style.”
“You don’t drink?” For a moment, I think I might not be alone in my sobriety tonight.
She throws her head back and laughs, “Oh no. I drink. Just not shitty, watered down beer. I’m going to go grab myself a glass of wine. Would you like anything?” she gestures towards my empty hands that are now laid flat on the bar.
“Nah. I’m good.”
Her brows pinch together before she shrugs and walks away, leaving me with Stevie and Wylie once again.
“Isn’t she pretty?” Stevie asks, nudging me.
I know she’s trying to help me get back into dating, and find a plus one for Savannah’s wedding, but I’m really not in the mood for this whole match making thing tonight. I’m exhausted after working at the station and the ranch and would much rather be in bed asleep.
I force a smile anyways, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “She’s pretty.” I agree, because it’s true, but that doesn’t stop my thoughts from wandering towards what Maggie is doing tonight. The same thing I’ve thought about for the past two weeks straight since I’ve seen her last.
She nods, satisfied, just as an upbeat country song kicks in. Wylie takes her hand with a grin. “Let’s go dance, mama,” he says, whisking her out onto the crowded floor where hundreds of couples are clapping and dancing along to the music.
I stay put, rubbing my beard, lost in thought, wondering when everything changed. I adjust the baseball cap I’m wearing, flipping it forward and pulling the brim down low over my face, as if it can somehow block out the loud, chaotic energy that’s swirling around me.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Everly asks as she returns to our table. There’s a thin glass of white wine clasped between her dainty fingers now and her free hand presses gently on top of mine where it rests on the table. I resist everything inside of me that’s telling me to pull my hand away.
She’s pretty.
She’s nice.
She’s trying to make conversation.
She’s here on a fucking date with you.
You need a date for your ex-girlfriend’s wedding next weekend.
You can be cordial.
“Just wondering when it happened. When I suddenly realized this type of thing wasn’t my scene anymore.”
Her eyes cast out towards the dancing couples then back towards me again and I’m sure I’ve blown any chance of getting her to agree to go to this stupid wedding that I’m dreading attending.
“It’s not really my thing either.”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
She smiles and shrugs. “Yea. I hate Texas.”
My heart instantly sinks and the hand on top of mine still pressed on the table feels like molten lava. I wonder if I can press it any harder into the wood, maybe I can break my way through it and free it from her touch, blaming it on a faulty hinge.
“All the cowboys, the slang, and shit, the heat is brutal in this state. Everywhere you go it smells like cows. Everyone is plumbers, ranchers or farmers. It’s like no one here has a white-collar job.
Worst part is the southern charm people pretend to have.
I only took the contract because the hospital was desperate for some help while they staff up, so the pay was good. ”
I clear my throat, tugging at the collar of my shirt I put on for this ridiculous date and wishing I was back in one of my faded T-shirts instead. “Think I’m going to go grab a drink.”
She looks at me for a moment then shrugs, completely oblivious to the way she just dissed everything about my family, hometown, and personality.
I slide off, weaving through the crowd of dancing bodies to find Wylie and Stevie.
I might no longer care what people think about me, but I’m not a total asshole, and I won’t just ditch Everly without passing the message on to someone else to deliver first. The people who put me in this situation to begin with.
“Hey!” I bark at Stevie who’s dancing to some upbeat pop song with Wylie. Her head snaps to face me.
“What?” she asks wide eyed at my tone while Wylie’s eyes narrow in warning.
“Your little blind date hates cowboys, ranchers and Texas.”
Stevie’s mouth pops open and Wylie shakes his head, laughing.
“I’m going to,” I point my thumb towards the exit door as Stevie nods aggressively.
“I’ll let her down. Sorry Clay. We’ll find someone for Savannah’s wedding.”
I shake my head. I’m not that desperate.
I don’t need my brother and sister-in-law to find me a date, so I don’t show up pathetically alone, sitting next to an empty plate at a table while my ex marries the love of her life.
I slide in the other direction, weaving through the crowd, almost making it to the door when suddenly my eyes snag on a familiar face.
A face that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
Maggie Hollister stands in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by a small group clapping and cheering as she line dances with the same blonde guy that I’d stopped her from drunkenly getting into a car with just over a month ago.
Leaning against the side of the warehouse, I fold my arms over my chest, kicking one booted foot back against the wall to watch.
She’s good—okay, she’s amazing. Her chestnut curls bounce around her as she moves, and she’s wearing a tiny pair of Daisy Duke shorts that barely cover her ass cheeks, paired with a snug green tank top and matching cowgirl boots.
Her eyes are alive with joy, her laugh ringing out like wind chimes as she spins and kicks, tipping her head toward her partner.
After the disaster of a blind date, I was just on, I realize I could stand here watching her all night and not be tired anymore. But then reality hits—she’s here with that same idiot who was willing to risk both their lives, and anyone else on the road, just to make it to a concert.
My mind reels at the possibility of her getting in a car with him again. He doesn’t have any regard for her safety, and I doubt he’s sober tonight by the way his hands are touching her.
Is he driving her home?
My eyes lock onto his fingers resting on her hip, gripping tighter as he spins and dips her before they break apart again.
Every time he touches her, it’s like a spark ignites, one that is burning up the thread of my control, and the thought of her going home with him sends a wave of anger pulsing through me.
I know I promised myself to keep my distance from her—that she’s too good for me, too pure, too innocent. I’m a wreck, a walking disaster with a one-way ticket to destruction, and the last thing I want is to drag her down with me.
But here I am, lingering in the shadows, unable to walk away. Waiting. Patiently, for the perfect moment to ruin her night and derail their little date...