Chapter Twenty-Three
I don’t know why I’m doing this.
That was the first thought that hit me as I pushed back from the table and followed her across the room, pretending I was just stretching my legs or heading to the bar myself.
She told herself she was just going to the bar because she wanted another drink. She told him that, too, I’m sure. But I saw it for what it was.
She wanted distance.
She doesn’t know it consciously—hell, she might argue with me if I said it out loud—but her body language gave her away. The quickness of her retreat. The way she exhaled once she was a few steps clear of the table. The way she didn’t hurry back to him.
She’s trying to give the guy a chance—I’ll give her that.
God knows she’s trying.
Charli and Harleigh are definitely encouraging the match. I clock them from my peripheral vision as I approach the table again. Harleigh’s leaned in toward the guy, nodding too enthusiastically at something he’s saying. Charli’s smiling, like this is exactly what she hoped would happen tonight.
I can’t imagine why they’d want her to settle for a guy who keeps going on and on about picking rocks out of horses’ hooves when he’s got a beautiful woman sitting beside him.
I mean, damn.
I’ve spent a lot of time around horses. I’ve picked my fair share of rocks out of hooves.
I can talk animal care procedures with the best of them.
But you don’t lead with that when you’re trying to woo a woman.
Not when the woman across from you looks like a whiskey-soaked daydream and you are lucky enough to have her willing to slum it with you in a honky-tonk for the night.
Boring as fuck.
I make a show of setting her drink down in front of her empty chair. Deliberate.
Dick watches, his eyes meeting mine.
His expression shows he’s confused at first—brows pulling together, mouth parting slightly, like he’s about to ask what the hell is happening. Then she comes up behind me and takes her seat, and something clicks.
To his credit, the man’s no dummy.
I see the moment he realizes it.
It’s subtle. A tightening around his eyes. A flicker of irritation he doesn’t quite manage to mask. His jaw shifts. He looks from her to me, then back to her again.
He lost this round.
Not that he was ever in the battle to begin with.
But—again, credit where it’s due—he doesn’t throw in the towel. Doesn’t slouch. Doesn’t sulk. He straightens in his seat, squares his shoulders, and meets my eyes as he reaches and covers Shelby’s hand with his. It’s a subtle move. One she allows as she chats with Royce across the table.
I just lift my glass and tip it toward him.
Not smug. Not aggressive.
Just … an acknowledgment.
The music swells, the band sliding into another song, something with a steady beat that makes the floor vibrate under my boots. Caison’s already standing, shrugging into his jacket, Matty at his side.
“I’m gonna get her home,” he says to the table.
Her sisters boo immediately.
“Oh, come on,” Harleigh complains. “We just got here.”
“Yeah,” Charli adds, frowning. “It’s not even ten.”
Matty rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue. She looks tired. Not sleepy, just done.
I slap Caison on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Bright and early,” he says.
I lean in and kiss Matty’s cheek, quick and light. Her skin’s clammy, and her eyes snap to me as she swats me away, nails catching my wrist. She pulls back and pierces me with a fiery glare.
I ignore it.
“Hope you’re able to rest,” I say.
Because of course I do.
I straighten and raise my voice just enough for the table at large to hear me. “I’m gonna head back to my friends and shoot a few rounds of pool before calling it a night myself.”
Shelby pretends not to hear me, eyes fixed on her glass—which she’s holding in the hand Dick tried to claim—as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
Everyone else acknowledges me.
Royce grins. “We’ll be over in a bit.”
“Save the table,” Axle adds.
I nod, already backing away.
Dick watches me go. He doesn’t look angry. Just … resigned. Like he knows when to bow out gracefully even if he doesn’t like it.
Smart man.
I weave through the crowd, back toward the pool tables. My friends are already lining up shots. The sharp crack of balls colliding echoes through the space. Someone slides me another beer without asking, but I push it aside. I think it’s best that I stick to water for the rest of the night.
I try to keep my eyes on the pool table the remainder of the evening. Resisting the urge to look back in her direction.
The truth is, something in me couldn’t stand watching her try so hard to be interested in someone. Couldn’t stand seeing her smile politely while he talked at her instead of to her. Couldn’t stand the idea of her settling just because everyone else thought she should.
I chalk my cue and take a shot, sinking a solid with a satisfying clack.
Seth whistles. “Damn.”
I shrug, and my eyes drift back toward her table anyway.
She’s laughing now—real laughter, not the forced kind. And I wish I were the one making her laugh.
I shake my head.
I line up another shot and remind myself that I’m just a guy shooting pool at a bar on a Friday night.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And whatever that was between us back there?
Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
Because all the Storm women have labeled me public enemy number one, all over a misunderstanding. One that I still need to talk to Shelby about.
But this is neither the time nor the place for that.
I decide to call it a night.
It’s not even that late, but the promise I made to Ruby has me packing it in.
I told her I’d come by the main house early to make pancakes with her and Momma before the day got rolling, and if I don’t leave now, there’s no chance in hell I’ll make it.
Allen and Seth, on the other hand, look like they’re just getting warmed up.
They’re standing around one of the pool tables. There are a couple guys across from them—young, sharks—and they’re too stupid to realize those young bucks are about to take every dollar they have in their pockets. I shake my head. Great way to kiss away a week’s wages.
I flag Theo down, settle my tab, and shrug on my jacket. The cold slaps me the second I step outside, sharp and mean. My breath fogs as I cross the lot toward my truck, already running through the morning in my head.
I reach for the door handle and curse.
Allen’s keys are sitting right there on the seat, catching the glow from the streetlamp.
“Idiot,” I mutter, grabbing them and jogging back toward the bar.
That’s when the door flies open.
A fury with blonde waves barrels straight into my chest.
“Oof.”
She stumbles, hands slapping against me, and instinct takes over. I grab her waist, steadying her before she can face-plant on the concrete.
“Excuse me,” she gasps.
Wide blue eyes lift to mine.
Shelby.
“Whoa,” I say. “You okay?”
Her hands are still fisted in my jacket when recognition hits. Her expression shifts—surprise straight to irritation. “Of course it’s you. Why are you everywhere?”
I blink. “Nice to see you too, Stormy.”
She scoffs and pushes against my chest, but I don’t let go right away.
“I mean it. I haven’t seen you in years. Years, Waylon. And all of a sudden, all I see is your face every time I turn a corner. The barn. The café. This bar. Even my own fucking arena.” She gestures wildly. “You’re like a frustrating boil that won’t get off my ass.”
I bark out a laugh before I can help myself. “You done?”
She yanks herself free, arms crossing tight over her chest. “Yes.”
“First of all, a boil? Really? That hurts. And trust me, if I were anywhere near your ass, frustration wouldn’t be what you’d be feeling. It’d be more like satisfaction.”
She growls.
Actually growls.
It’s the most adorable damn thing I’ve ever heard.
“That’s not the way I remember it,” she spits, trying to stomp past me.
I sidestep and catch her wrist, tugging her back into my chest. “Whoa there. Wait a minute.”
“Let me go,” she snaps, twisting and kicking like she might actually try to knee me.
I tighten my grip just enough to keep her steady. “This ain’t a battle you can win. I’ve gotten tantrum control on lock the past few months.”
She stills. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.”
“Yes, you are,” I say calmly. “Now if you’ll stop, we can talk.”
Her shoulders rise and fall as she drags in deep breaths. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t look at me either.
“I didn’t want to do this here tonight,” I say, my patience thinning, “but you’re the one bringing it up, so here goes.”
I loosen my hold, giving her space, and she turns to face me.
“What the fuck do you mean, that’s not the way you remember it?”
She hugs herself tighter, eyes finally lifting to mine. “You know exactly what I mean.”
I step closer. “That’s the thing: I have no fucking clue what you mean.”
She swallows hard. “Stop it. That’s not funny. If you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. But don’t you dare pretend you don’t know.”
Frustration boils over. I scrub a hand down my face. “You’re drunk. We’ll talk later.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the door. “Where are they?”
“Who?”
“Your sisters. Your cousins. Your—” I grit my teeth. “Your date. I’m not leaving you alone in the parking lot.”
She shakes her head. “I’m a big girl, and I’m not drunk. Tipsy at best.”
She sways on her feet, proving my point, and I raise my brows.
“See. You’ve had too much to drive,” I say.
“I’m not driving. I just came out for air.”
“Well, you got air. Come on. Let’s go back inside,” I say, extending my hand to her.
“No.”
Of course not.
“Stormy—”
“No. We’re here, and I want to talk now.”
I blow out a breath. “Fine.” I meet her gaze head-on. “Why the hell does Case think you and I hooked up in high school?”
Her lip quivers.
“Caison knows?” she whispers.
“That’s not the point,” I snap. “Knows what?”
She lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a hiccuping sob. “What, are you afraid I’m gonna turn you in to the cops or something?”
Cops?
My stomach drops. “Fuck. Did I … please tell me I didn’t force myself on you?”
Her head jerks up, eyes wide. “No. God, no. Nothing happened that I didn’t want to happen. Until it was over anyway.”
“Then I’m gonna need you to use your words, Stormy,” I say, my voice rough. “Because I honestly have no idea what I’m being accused of here.”
She studies my face like she’s searching for a crack, a lie. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
I throw my hands up. “Obviously not.”
Her lip trembles again, and this time, I step closer without thinking. She steps back just as fast.
“Tell me,” I say quietly.
She closes her eyes. “It was the night you graduated. We were in your backyard, by the bonfire. We were doing shots of moonshine.” She opens her eyes, looking past me now. “You sat down beside me, and … you kissed me.”
My chest tightens.
“It was my first kiss,” she says softly, lifting a finger to her lips. “You said my lips were soft.”
A flicker of memory sparks—firelight, laughter—but it slips through my fingers before I can grab it.
“Marty Pasour’s brother started teasing us,” she continues, “and you asked if I wanted to take a walk. So, we did. We ended up down by the barn.” She swallows. “We went inside so we could have some privacy and …”
She stops.
“And what?” I ask, my voice barely there.
“And everything.”
The implication hits me like a punch to the ribs.
Fuck.
“Afterward, we heard Holland calling your name,” she goes on quickly.
“You freaked out. You got dressed fast, told me you were sorry, and took off. I just lay there quietly for probably twenty minutes or so. Then I adjusted my clothes and slipped out. I was too embarrassed to go back to the party, so I walked all the way home.”
“Shit, Stormy. I was really fucked up back then.”
Her eyes graze over me. “You look pretty fucked up now.”
After that story time? I sure as hell am.
I stare at her, my head spinning. “I was wrecked,” I say hoarsely.
“Pop and I had a blowup right after the ceremony. I told him I wasn’t going to college—that I wanted to rodeo for a while.
Figure out what I wanted. He told me if I didn’t pack to leave for the University of Wyoming, I could pack up and get out of his house.
” I shake my head. “That’s why I got so wasted.
I was pissed. And when I woke up in the morning … everything was a blank.”
A tear slides down her cheek. She wipes it away with the back of her hand. “That’s why you acted like you did at the diner the next day.”
“How did I act?”
“Like nothing had happened. You were with your girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Whatever. You didn’t even speak to me.”
“Fuck,” I choke out, the word tearing out of me. I turn away and kick the tire of a nearby truck, pain shooting up my leg. “Fuck!”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
Then the door swings open.
“There you are!” Harleigh’s voice rings out. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Shelby’s gaze holds mine for one last second before she schools her face and looks over my shoulder. “You found me.”
“Come on. They’re playing ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ ”
“I’m coming.”
She walks past me, and I stay rooted to the spot. She’s almost inside when I finally find my voice and turn.
“Stormy?”
She glances back. “Yeah?”
“I might not remember our first kiss,” I say, my heart pounding, “but I’m damn sure gonna remember our next one.”
Her brows lift. “Next one?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say quietly. “There will be a next one.”
She doesn’t answer. Just slips inside. Harleigh’s eyes meet mine, and she grins before following. The door shuts behind them.
I stand there in the cold long after the music swallows her up, Allen’s keys heavy in my hand, one thought racing through my addled mind.
I’m not running this time.