Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jude
Letting Carson handle the little details like where to eat made the remainder of our time at the equine hospital more bearable.
In a serendipitous bit of timing, Linus was able to get his MRI shortly after the blood work, and Dr. Song shooed us along to dinner.
Back at my truck, we unhitched the empty trailer into a space designated by the attendant.
“Where are we eating?” I asked Carson as we finished situating the trailer.
“Found a place.” Carson held up his phone so I could see the address and add it to my GPS. “Close to hotel.”
“Thanks.” I put the truck in gear. I hadn’t heard of the brew pub he’d found, but I trusted his pick.
The location was a bonus because I sorely needed a beer and was contemplating breaking my usual one-beer limit for when I was driving or on call.
“I’ll park at the hotel, and then we can walk to the restaurant. ”
We arrived at the hotel and rushed through the check-in process so we could eat sooner.
“I hate leaving the horses.” Carson’s mouth twisted to one side. His speech had shown little improvements lately, but his facial features occasionally revealed ongoing TBI effects.
“I know. Me too.” I slowed my pace to accommodate his more deliberate gait. “But even with a rush job, pathology on RC’s biopsy won’t be back until tomorrow morning. Ditto the neurologist reviewing Linus’s MRI. Heck, we’re lucky to get such a quick turnaround going into a weekend.”
“Yeah.” Carson paused at a crosswalk to wait for the walk signal to illuminate.
“They’ll be okay.” I wanted to touch his arm as he had done for me earlier, but I had no idea how he’d react to such a gesture in a more public setting. “Scott’s beef is with me, not the horses.”
“Sure seemed personal.” Carson shot me a pointed look.
“He’s a lot of bluster.” I kept the irritation in my tone to a minimum.
However, privately, I cursed the universe for assigning Scott to my cases.
I would have preferred any other attending.
My back tensed at having to explain his behavior away.
“I heard him talking to the team before the MRI. He’s taking the case seriously, even if he wants to prove a point to me in the process. ”
“Scott gonna be at the thing tomorrow?” Carson sounded ready to personally step into battle for me, an image that buoyed me regardless of how much I was dreading the luncheon.
“The reunion lunch? Probably.” I offered a small smile as we approached the restaurant. “Damn glad to have you along as a distraction.”
“Happy to help.” Carson sounded genuine, which was good because I already felt guilty enough over dragging him into ex-friend drama.
I was first to the door, so I held it open for Carson.
Although it was Friday in the back-to-campus busy season, we were seated promptly in a booth at the far side of the center bar area.
The place was new since I’d last been in town, but it had a friendly, well-established vibe with electric signs and wall decor.
The room was noisier than my favorite place, with a dancefloor to the rear, but the booth provided both distraction and noise reduction.
“Fair warning.” I fiddled with my menu, but didn't open it. “Scott might not be the only former friend at the reunion lunch.”
“They all end badly?” Carson raised his eyebrows over his menu.
“Not all,” I hedged, hating that we needed to have this conversation.
Given how badly seeing Scott had gone, though, Carson deserved a heads-up.
“I kind of went through a bit of a man-whore phase when I got out of the army.” Cheeks heating, I took a quick sip of my water.
“First real chance to experiment. In my defense, I was younger and stupider. I was too focused on my studies to make time to date for real. Plenty of regrets on all sides.”
“I’m sure.” Carson gave a good-natured chuckle. “Never had that phase.”
“Trust me, you’re not missing much.” I matched his casual tone, glad he didn’t seem uncomfortable at the topic or my past behavior.
I wasn’t the same person I’d been back then, and merely discussing that phase made my shirt stick to my suddenly sweaty lower back.
“Like you said earlier, friends with benefits can get messy, and I’m not much on stranger hookups or the bar scene. ”
“Yep.” Carson nodded like he knew a thing or two about such a mess, but before I could figure out how to pry, our server reappeared.
“Ready to order?” The server was a college-aged guy with small hoop earrings and a matching nose ring. Despite the country music and western-themed decor, the place seemed rather progressive, judging by the many young staff members with tattoos and piercings.
“Sure.” Carson was affable as ever.
“Crap. I didn’t even look at the menu.” I groaned as I glanced over at Carson’s open menu, which was alarmingly thick. My weary brain wanted nothing to do with deciding. “What are you having?”
“This one.” Carson pointed at a picture of a towering burger called Rodeo Cowboy, topped with barbecue sauce, an onion ring, and cheese, among other items. “Make it two?”
“Yes.” My shoulders sagged with relief at not having to think. I managed a tired smile for the server. “And whatever pale ale you’d recommend.”
“Coming right up.” The server left with our order, only to return a few moments later with my beer.
I took a long, bracing sip. “Walking was a good idea. Definitely a night for a beer.”
“You earned it.” Carson’s soft eyes were far more understanding than I deserved, and I had to look away.
My attention landed on the dancefloor, where an energetic hostess was leading a small group of patrons in a line dance with mixed results.
Earlier, I’d noted what seemed to be several same-sex couples among the diners, a suspicion confirmed by two men dancing closer together than strictly friendly.
A wistful sigh escaped my chest before I could stifle it.
“Go.” Carson gestured at the dancers. “Join them.”
My feet twitched. On the dancefloor, a woman stumbled, laughing her way through what was clearly her first time line dancing.
“Only if you give it a try,” I said to Carson, making my voice a pleading tease. A few of the dancers were touching, making my request more reasonable. Just two friends, sharing some burgers and fun.
“Two left feet.” Carson scowled, but his tone left some wiggle room for me to give a comical pout before he held up his hands. “Fine. Fine. Warned you.”
He followed me over to the dancefloor, where another song had begun.
I deliberately simplified my movements as we followed the leader, who wore sparkly jeans and a glossy pink grin.
Carson gave a self-conscious chuckle, but he made a decent attempt at dancing, far more adept than the two tipsy women to our right.
The longer the song went on, the more comfortable Carson seemed, limbs loosening and smile widening.
My stress rolled away, lost to the music and mood boost from dancing.
This had been a stellar idea. However, right as I was ready to dance all night, the song shifted into a slower two-step, and couples started pairing up.
“Food’s up.” Carson couldn’t hide the relief in his eyes as he gestured toward our booth.
Neither of us brought up the dancing as we dug into our burgers and fries. I let the conversation be mainly about the food and the horses as the meal passed amicably. We had a playful tussle over the check, which I won.
“Ready to go?” Carson asked as I pocketed my wallet.
“Yeah.” My attention had drifted back to the dancefloor, making my voice distracted.
Another slow song floated over the restaurant, and more dancers had made their way onto the floor.
The couples were mainly mixed, but I counted two pairs of women and another made up of two men.
Longing swept through me, but slow dancing would almost undoubtedly be one step too far for Carson. Reluctantly, I stood.
“You wanna?” Carson pointed at the dancefloor, evidently picking up on the direction of my thoughts. I prepared my denial, but before I could speak, he took a few steps in that direction. “Come on.”
“What?” I frowned even as I followed him. “Thought you weren’t out.”
“I’m not.” He gave a far-too-easy shrug. “No one I know here.”
“Fair enough.” I wasn’t stupid enough to turn his offer down. If he were willing to try waltzing with me despite an aversion to dance, I was at least going to enjoy the moment.
We arrived at the edge of the dancefloor near a pillar, and Carson gazed expectantly up at me. “You lead.”
And so I did, taking his hand in mine and keeping a respectful distance between us. The song was a familiar ballad, so I moved easily into a classic box step. Carson kept up for the first few notes, then frowned as he shuffled, avoiding a stumble, but clearly not used to following either.
“Sorry.” He pursed his lips, glaring down at his boots. “My feet hate my brain.”
“You’re fine.” I stopped trying to waltz and settled into a simpler sway, more reminiscent of high school dances, but with the side benefit of bringing us closer together. “And this is perfect.”
Carson snorted, but he relaxed into my grip nevertheless. Which was indeed perfect, no exaggeration needed. I liked dancing, but dancing with Carson felt extra-special, charged with possibility and enhanced by our growing friendship.
Heck. My grip tightened slightly at the reminder that we were friends first and foremost. Carson might be indulging my love of dancing, but that didn’t mean a license to take advantage of his kindness. Accordingly, as the song ended, I released him with a smile.
“Thank you.” I took a determined step toward the exit. No use in pushing my luck or my restraint. “We can walk back now.”
“Okay.” Carson followed easily, seemingly unchanged by the dance. And he likely wasn’t. He’d made a nice gesture for a friend who’d had a bad day, nothing more.
We walked back to the hotel, the silence feeling extra potent. Hell if I knew what to talk about, though, my usual gift of chatter failing me. The quiet grew more awkward as we arrived back at the hotel and brought our bags to our room.
Two beds as I’d requested, but the space seemed small and devoid of air as the door shut behind us. The night stretched in front of us, Carson’s nearness almost more than I could bear.
“Movie?” Carson claimed the bed opposite the TV and picked up the remote. He didn’t appear nearly as rattled as I was, for which I was grateful. One of us on edge was more than enough.
“Yes, please.” I perched on the other bed.
“This okay?” Carson found a space action movie, something about stopping an asteroid. I would have agreed to the driest of documentaries, so I nodded.
The room was set up so that one bed was opposite the wall-mounted TV while the other faced a closet. I had a hell of a time finding an angle where I could see the TV, trying various sitting and lounging positions as the movie started.
“Gonna strain something.” Carson shook his head at me before patting a spot next to him. “Come sit.”
“Sure.” I didn’t have a good reason to say no, so I went to sit beside him, careful to keep our feet from touching as I stretched my legs out.
“Better?” Carson had the audacity to ask, but then, he had no clue as to the massive amount of temptation I was wrestling with.
“Yeah,” I lied. I tried to focus on the movie, but I was hyperaware of Carson’s every breath and bodily shift.
Oxygen continued to be in short supply, especially as Carson’s movements seemed to bring him closer.
Our thighs brushed. Electricity crackled up my spine.
With anyone else, I’d assume they were sending a deliberate signal.
With Carson, however, I refused to guess wrong.
On the screen, the ragtag group of heroes argued about their plans to save Earth.
I was much more concerned with saving our friendship.
Carson shifted again, a subtle bump of his foot against mine.
His gaze remained on the TV, yet his awareness seemed more on me, with a certain air of expectation in his body language.
His foot moved again, too purposeful to be accidental.
“Carson?” I whispered, unsure what exactly I wanted to ask.
Head turning toward me, he met my gaze with questioning eyes.
What question, though, remained a mystery.
My breath caught in my lungs like a cold front had burst through the room.
My throat burned. Carson didn’t look away, yet he also didn’t shift any closer or try to close the gap between our faces.
“Your move.” His voice was husky, barely loud enough to be heard over the TV.
Hell. If he had simply gone for it, I could have tumbled along, shoving logic to the side. By tossing the ball into my court, Carson ensured my brain had plenty of time to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
“I shouldn’t.” I let out a low groan. My hands shook from wanting to haul him to me.
“But you want to.” Carson’s gaze never wavered.
“God, yes.” I squished my eyes shut.
“Then do it.” Carson made it sound so simple, a choice between chocolate or vanilla. His tone was casual, no hint of pressure, yet a weight bore down on my shoulders.
“We’re friends. The last thing I want is to ruin that.” I opened my eyes, not sure whether I was willing him to understand or asking him to convince me otherwise.
“I don’t do mess.” Carson’s tone was firm, steady like his gaze. I wasn’t sure I believed him that we weren’t about to screw everything up.
“This is a bad, bad idea,” I muttered as I leaned in anyway, my resistance shattering. Carson’s expression softened into a small, pleased smile seconds before I kissed him.