Chapter 16
Sixteen
Gentry
It’s too damn loud in here.
Too loud, too crowded, and the drinks are overpriced.
I should be at home, relaxing in my recliner with a glass of bourbon that I don’t have to pay an absurd amount of money for, but that’s not the case.
My nephew, August’s, birthday was earlier this week, and the boys decided to take him out tonight to celebrate at The Neon Buckle, this god-awful country bar that opened on Main last year.
I’d say this place was our mayor’s shitty attempt at making Wolf Creek “hip” again, but who the hell knows.
What I do know is the pink and blue neon lights give me a headache, it reeks of spilled whiskey, cheap cologne, and sweat, and most of the people here look like they don’t know the first thing about being country or getting their hands dirty.
Their hats are too clean, their trucks too, and they probably got hands as soft as a baby’s bottom.
I only came because August practically begged me to, and because my sons have made it a point to express their concern that I never go do anything fun that doesn’t involve the ranch.
And apparently with age, I’ve lost the ability to say no to them.
So, here I am, at a bar on a Friday night, surrounded by people trying to forget who they are for a few hours.
But it’ll be fine. In a couple of hours, I can go home and climb into bed.
I can make it that long. I can have a drink, maybe two, watch a bunch of strangers—or maybe even the fools I came with—make idiots of themselves on the dance floor or the mechanical bull, and ease my kids’ worries. I can do that for them.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
But it’s a little hard when he’s here, and for the life of me, I can’t seem to focus on anything else. Remington’s presence shines brighter than a Texas summer sun, and no matter how many times I tell myself to look away—look anywhere other than him—I can’t. My gaze always finds its way back.
As far as I know, he hasn’t caught me staring at him yet, but that’s probably because he’s been playing pool with August, his boyfriend, Tripp, and Ash for the last half an hour. He’s occupied, and how I wish I could be too.
The navy-blue Wolf Creek Fire Department shirt he’s wearing clings to his biceps like it was painted on, and every time he leans over the pool table to take a shot, I can’t help but notice how round and plump his ass looks in those jeans.
How fucking incredible it would feel to grip that ass while he straddled me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t notice his ass or his muscles, and I certainly shouldn’t fantasize about him on top of me.
Not only is he nineteen years younger, but he’s also my son’s best friend.
It’s sick. And yet, that doesn’t stop the images from flashing through my mind, and it didn’t stop me from making out with him the other night at the studio.
My body heats at the memory of his lips on mine.
I wish I could say I walked out of there and forgot all about it, but that would be a bald-faced lie. I’ve thought about it every single day since. In fact, it’s all I can think of.
First thing in the morning, with my hand wrapped around my morning wood. In the pasture, surrounded by dozens of cattle, when I should be focused on my job. Standing in front of my kids. At night, when I’m all alone. In bed. Hell, I even dreamt about it last night.
Not tonight, though. I can’t let myself think about it tonight, when he’s here, and they’re here. I can’t.
Wrapping my hand tighter around the bourbon I’ve been nursing, I stare straight ahead.
I watch as a woman teaches—or attempts to teach—a man who barely looks old enough to be in this bar to dance to the song booming through the speakers.
It holds my attention for a while. But it’s like my body is drawn to him now.
It knows he’s there, and it’s impossible to resist.
Do not look at him. Don’t you fucking do it. You’re a grown man, one with restraint and self-control.
But then Remington laughs—warm, low, and familiar—and my eyes slide over to him anyway. Like they have a mind of their own.
I think it’s worse here than if I were to run into him on the ranch.
The noise, the press of bodies, the heat and sweat in the air.
My brain keeps going back to the other night, to how quiet it was compared to this.
How close he stood, and the way his hands slid over mine.
If I close my eyes, I can still feel the magnetic pull that took over me and had me spinning around in my chair to face him.
I can feel the kiss too. Steady, passionate.
I’ve never been kissed like that. I can still taste his tongue in my mouth as he fed it to me, and how sure he was when he did it.
Taking a long pull from my drink, I tell myself it meant nothing.
Even if I did come in my pants like a teenage boy.
I’ve never been more embarrassed than I was when I left that night. It’s been years since I’ve gotten laid, but goddamn, I didn’t expect a little making out and grinding to do me in so quickly. How pathetic.
“Havin’ fun, Dad?”
Turning my head, I meet my son’s gaze, and my heart nearly leaps from my chest. “Oh, a fuckin’ blast,” I deadpan, finishing off the rest of my drink before signaling to the bartender for another.
Hollis chuckles before downing the rest of his beer and doing the same. “So, I can expect to see you up on that mechanical bull later?”
I huff. “Not a chance.”
“Ash and Remi are kickin’ their asses,” he says once our drinks are dropped off, making me realize I’ve been staring at Remington this whole time.
Fuck.
I need to get my head on right and figure out a way to keep my eyes to myself. Or, at the very least, not in Remington’s direction.
“Looks like it,” I muse, trying to slow my racing heart. What is it about him that has me so on edge? And out of nowhere.
“Come on,” Hollis says, nudging me in the arm. “Let’s go over there.”
I don’t bother fighting it, because I know my son, and he doesn’t take no for an answer.
And what’s the point? I’m here for them.
There’s no sense in me standing by the bar the whole night by myself.
If anything, that’ll get me into more trouble than being near them.
At least, this way, they won’t catch me staring at their friend.
Remington and Ash score the win a few minutes later, and Finn and Hollis jump in to play them next when August and Tripp disappear onto the dance floor.
It’s easy to keep my eyes off Remington, listening to the four of them talk shit while they shoot.
But then, as if he can sense me thinking about him, he finds my gaze and holds it for a second too long.
Something sparks between us; I feel it in my gut, and I know he does too.
The way his smile shifts into something more private, like he’s thinking about the other night, is all the confirmation I need.
I look away quickly as my jaw clenches.
This was a mistake.
Coming to this bar, knowing he’d be here, just days after doing something we never should’ve done, was a fucking mistake.
He’s my son’s best friend, and I’m old enough to be his dad.
This isn’t me. I’m not careless, I don’t make rash decisions, and I definitely don’t think with my dick.
This is a line I never should’ve crossed, but my body doesn’t seem to care about what I should or shouldn’t be doing.
And now that the line has been crossed, I don’t know how to pretend it never happened. Especially because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, there’s this pull, this undeniable heat, between us that’s stronger than anything I’ve felt before.
Fuck, I need some air.
Standing, I toss back the rest of my drink, then weave through the crowd until I reach the exit.
Exhaling the breath I’ve been holding as the night chill hits my face, I shove my hands into my pockets and walk around the side of the building.
Even though it’s packed inside, the outside is relatively empty and quiet, much to my relief.
“Where are you runnin’ off to?”
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the sound of his voice. I watch in my periphery as Remington approaches me, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. “Go back inside, Remington.”
He groans, stopping in front of me and folding his arms over his chest. “You know how much I love hearin’ you say my name like that, Daddy Moore.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” he asks, and when I lift my gaze, he’s wearing an innocent smile that makes my stomach twist.
“Go back inside. You’ve got no business bein’ out here with me.”
Remington smirks as he reaches over, taking the Stetson off my head and putting it on his own. “Oh, but I think ya want me out here,” he drawls, flicking the brim of the hat.
I grit my teeth and say nothing.
“You know what they say…” Taking a step toward me, Remington presses his palms into the wall on either side of my head and leans in, bringing his mouth to my ear.
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” My heart jumps to my throat as a tingle travels down my spine.
“And I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a great idea right about now. ”
Jesus Christ.
“Knock it off,” I grit out before shoving him back. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Remington? The other night at the studio was a mistake. This”—I gesture between us—“isn’t happenin’. Am I makin’ myself clear?”
Remington huffs a small chuckle. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he says. “Tell me you haven’t been makin’ eyes at me from across the room all night, and I’ll walk away and leave you alone.”
I clench my jaw, exhaling a sharp breath through my nose. When I don’t answer, he steps up to me again. His gaze dips to my mouth before coming up and holding mine. The corner of his mouth twitches, and his eyes twinkle with amusement. I hate how attractive it is.
But even more than that, I hate that I notice how attractive it is.
“Go on. Tell me,” he taunts. “I wanna hear it.” Leaning in, his breath is hot on my face as he says, “I wanna hear you tell me again how that kiss was a mistake. How you haven’t thought about it.
Replayed it. And I really wanna hear you deny checkin’ me out all night.
” Remington pulls back enough to look me in the eye. “I’m listenin’.”
My jaw aches as I grind my teeth. “I can’t.”
A grin curves his mouth. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, daddy.”
“Knock it the fuck off.” I shove him back until I can breathe again. “Maybe I have thought about the kiss, and maybe I have been lookin’ at you all night. But that doesn’t change the fact that it was a mistake and that it won’t happen again.”
“Why not? You sayin’ you didn’t enjoy yourself?”
Oh, I did. A little too much.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? Because from where I’m standin’, we’re two consentin’ adults.”
“The point is, you’re my son’s best friend, Remington. It’s not right. We can’t.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond before I storm off, heading back inside the bar to find my kids and do my best to put the last five minutes—and the last week—out of my mind.
But as it turns out, trying not to want something I’m already halfway ruined for wanting is damn near impossible, especially when that something refuses to get out of my damn head.