8. Presley
Chapter 8
Presley
I splash some cool water on my face, wishing it was colder to help calm the burning of my cheeks. My body is still feeling the effects of Kade staring at me as I walked off. I probably shouldn’t have left like that, but the moment our hands touched, my anxiety crept in. I had to leave before I cried or yelled at him.
I wipe my hands off with some paper towels and look at my calloused left fingers. I know he felt them when I took the knife back, and I don’t know why it set me off. They could easily be from working outside, but my mind went straight to “he knows you play fiddle!”—which is silly. And at the end of the day, would it really matter if anyone knew I played? The worst that could happen is maybe they’d ask me to perform for them.
But if I’m honest with myself, I know that’s not why I freaked out.
While my interactions with Kade have been less than desirable, including but not limited to him calling me “woman” just now, I can’t help but be attracted to the cowboy. When I’m around him, I feel as if my body has a mind of its own. He pulls me in like a moth to a flame, making my belly flip-flop and my skin tingle—a feeling I haven’t felt since I met Derek. Or maybe ever.
I huff out a long breath. Figures this feeling would come now, at the most inopportune time, from a man who’s younger than me and very much a playboy. That fact is obvious to me not only from his behavior in the back room last night but also from the gossip I heard while working the bar yesterday.
The biggest topic was Kade’s return to Night Hawk. I heard something about an accident, but mostly, they spoke of his penchant for drinking and women. I was too busy to think much of it at the time, but now Jake’s comment about him chasing after the bachelorette parties makes a lot more sense.
All this to say I have no business feeling any type of way about Kade. I moved to this town to get away from red flags, not move toward them. I just have to remind myself of that when he’s around.
With a deep inhale, I check my appearance, glad I don’t look the way I feel on the inside. My skin is a little red and dewy from the heat and the water, but otherwise, I look like me. Wavy, dyed blonde-and-purple hair, black mascara and eyeliner, pink-tinted moisturizer for my lips, small tits, big hips, and clothes that cover all my rolls. Just a woman. Nothing special.
After that great pep talk, I walk back out to the bar. It’s gotten busier in the few minutes I’ve been collecting myself. Kade is serving a new group while Stu pours some shots for a couple of women who look like they’re from the city. Even though this is my second shift, I’m learning how easy it is to tell. The locals are dressed more casually with worn hats and boots, their skin tanned or sunburnt from working outside. The “city folk” are dressed as if they’re trying to fit in. Their hats and boots are brand new, and their clothes appear fresh off the rack.
I walk over to the bar and take my position back at the cutting board. I don’t know if I should still be doing this now that it’s gotten busier, but I’m not going to ask Kade. So I get to work and cut the limes and lemons, using the technique he showed me until all of the containers are filled. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad Kade taught me this skill, or it would’ve taken me a lot longer.
“You cut those like a pro.”
I look to my side to see Jake. He’s got on his Night Hawk uniform and his red cowboy hat, which I’ve learned is a signature of his.
Kade appears behind Jake and slaps him on the back. “Showed her what you taught me.”
“Ah, the old slit trick.” He grins.
Kade snorts. “Please don’t call it that.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I agree.”
Both men eye me like they’re surprised I spoke. Have I really been that awkward since I’ve met them?
Yes, yes, I have.
“My Pops taught me that, and it’s what he calls it,” Jake says fondly. “Just passing it on to future generations.”
I snort. “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you.”
A boyish grin forms on his features, and I know I’m right. Jake strokes his fingers over his clean-shaven jaw. “Don’t let this pretty face fool you. I have good genes. Kade’s the twenty-two-year-old baby, but I’m actually eighty.”
The reaffirmation of Kade’s age makes me wonder how long he’s worked here—and if he’s been coming here for longer than it was legal.
Kade chuckles. “Don’t pay Jakey boy here any mind; he thinks he’s a comedian.” He goes to say something else, but a customer asks for service and stops him. He winks at the both of us then walks away.
“You doing good, Presley?” Jake asks.
“Yeah, great.”
“Good, you think you can handle working the floor tonight? Since it won’t be as busy as yesterday, I’ll have you go around and take orders at the tables. Then Kade can fix the drinks for you, and you can grab any bottled beer or seltzers. I’ll have Stu work the bar top.”
I nod. “No problem. ”
He smiles, his dark eyes glinting. “Alright, then. Did Kade tell you about the band? They’ll play for a couple of hours and get drinks on the house.”
I force a smile, attempting to do a better job this time of keeping any emotion from my face. While I know the band isn’t Derek, it could still be someone I know, especially if they have a fiddle player. I’d rather not have my prior life mixed in with the one I’m trying to build here, at least until I can figure out what I want to do with my music career.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Just two buddies of mine. They play here often. You like live music?”
It’s harder to keep my face neutral at that question, but I manage to nod. “Who doesn’t?”
Jake chuckles and nods like he agrees. “Well, specifically, this is bluegrass.”
My smile is tight. Little does he know, that’s the majority of what I play. “Yeah, I enjoy it.”
“Good, you’ll hear a lot of it here. Well, I’ve got some paperwork to finish up. I’ll be back out in a bit, but again, come grab me if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks, Jake.” He tips his cowboy hat and walks off, leaving me to my own devices. I pat the pockets of my apron, double-checking I have a pad of paper and pen in case I need to write something down.
When I gaze out at the floor, many of the tables are filled, and I notice people are looking at me with curious expressions. Once again, I wish I could erase my tattoos and change my hair, but I can’t. Maybe I should’ve asked Jake if I could work the bar instead. Last night felt easier because I was able to get into a rhythm of serving that didn’t involve a lot of talking.
A Pandora’s box of energy threatens to unleash its contained anxieties inside my stomach, but I force myself to exhale. Since I can’t go on a break and take a few drags of my calming inhaler, I start to prattle off a list of things in my head, a trick I learned from a friend to help pull myself out of an oncoming anxiety attack. It also helps me fall asleep at night when I can’t shut my brain off. Chicken, Alaska, fence post, computer , water, bird, coffee . Each word is carefully selected to be unrelated to the previous one.
I sigh my relief when it starts to work, my shoulders relaxing and the insides of my stomach uncoiling. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do this earlier, because I’m already feeling better, maybe even better than if I’d taken a drag of my inhaler. After a few more strings of words and another couple of breaths, I plaster a smile on my face and walk up to a table with two women. I hear the tail end of their conversation as I approach.
“I think the anniversary of Emmett’s death really screwed him up, especially with only having just gotten better from the accident. That’s why he’s gone back to drinking and sleeping around,” one of the women says to the other.
“Can I get you ladies anything?” I ask, interrupting their gossip.
The woman who was talking turns her gray eyes on me and scans me up and down. The disapproval I feel from her stare is brutal. Frog, sky, air fryer, trolls…
“Who are you?” she bites out, her steely gaze slithering over my tattoos then my face.
“Cricket! That’s not very nice,” the other woman scolds.
I blink at the woman called Cricket and think it’s appropriate she’s named after a bug. I may not know her, but I would never talk to someone like that.
Cricket’s plump lips, painted a bright red, stretch painfully into a tight smile. “Sorry. May I ask your name?” Her tone is saccharine and still not nice.
“Bartender,” I answer her. None of us wear name tags, but given the tone of her voice, I don’t think she deserves to know my name.
She flips some of her brown hair over her shoulder. She’s a beautiful, curvy woman, the kind of Jessica Rabbit curves I’d kill to have. But even before she spoke to me, the way she had her nose turned up and the gossip on her lips told me she thinks very highly of herself. And not in a good way.
“Your name is Bartender?” She giggles condescendingly.
I ignore her question. “What can I get you?”
A beat of awkward silence passes between us.
Her jaw ticks. She’s probably not used to people not answering her questions. “Do you live here, Bartender ?”
“Nobody lives in the bar, Cricket. Except maybe Jake.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises as a now familiar warm baritone voice enters our little chat.
Cricket’s gaze flicks beside me, her smile becoming so sweet and flirty that it makes me want to puke. “Kade,” she coos, batting her eyelashes.
Oh god. I hope he hasn’t slept with this woman. I mean, he probably has, seeing as she’s gorgeous. But I’d definitely question his taste in women if that were true.
“Howdy, Cricket.”
She reaches her arm out and touches his forearm delicately. I’m unable to resist looking at his face out of the corner of my eye. He’s smirking as if he likes the flirtation, but I notice the way his molars are clenched and tiny lines have appeared in the corners of his eyes. Most people wouldn’t think anything of it, but I’ve spent a long time pretending to like the touch of someone when I really didn’t. And that’s not even mentioning the men I’ve met over the years in the industry who loved to touch me without asking. Harmless touching, mostly, but still touch that crossed personal boundaries.
“I haven’t seen you in months,” she purrs.
Kade pulls his arm out from under her and tips the brim of the buckskin cowboy hat he’s got on, the same one from yesterday. “Been tied up. Or I guess laid up.”
She giggles, but I don’t think Kade meant that as a joke. Or maybe he did. I don’t know him well enough to know.
“You ladies need a drink?” he asks .
Her friend goes to speak, but Cricket cuts her off. “Surprise us with something!”
Kade’s jaw ticks again. “I can have our new girl here make something for you. She’s really good with limes.”
I can’t help it; my cheeks stain pink. I’m never not going to think of Kade when I see a lime.
Cricket’s eyes narrow at me, but she keeps a smile on her face. “We want you to make it for us, Kade.”
“I’ve got to help the band.” He looks to the small stage where I see two men beginning to set up. One has a guitar case and another a fiddle. A tense breath blows quietly past my lips at finally putting to rest the unanswered question I had. Thankfully, I don’t recognize either of them.
“Are you sure, Kade? Just one little drink.” Cricket pouts.
I roll my shoulders back and turn my attention to this woman again. She reminds me a bit of Derek, someone who can’t take a hint.
“City Girl can handle it.” Kade smirks.
God, this man sure does love his nicknames. But in this case, I’ll allow it since I don’t want this woman to know my name. Though it’s not like I can hide it. I’m surprised she doesn’t already know from town gossip.
“City Girl?” Cricket chirps. “Explains the hair and tattoos.” She giggles.
“Hey, now, Cricket. Be nice,” Kade says.
She giggles again, the sound grating on me. Kade didn’t mean that to be funny, but again, this woman does not know signals.
“It’s fine,” I interject, not needing him to fight any battles for me. “I’ll go make a drink. Something extra sour?” I ask, knowing this girl probably likes her drinks with extra sugar.
Kade’s jaw ticks again. This time, I don’t think it’s from annoyance but because he’s trying not to laugh. Now I’m curious what story lies between them, even if I shouldn’t care.
“I like strawberry mojitos,” she says .
“How City Girl of you.” It’s past my lips before I can stop it. The urge to slap my hand over my mouth is strong, but I can’t take it back now. Kade purses his lips, but a bit of laughter sneaks out.
“Kade.” Cricket bristles. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
“You asked for it.”
Her lower lip shoots out in an obnoxious pout. “Kade,” she whines, squeezing his bicep. “I’m not trying to be mean. Can you please make us a drink? You know how we like it.” With the lift and tone of her voice, her double meaning was clear.
But Kade doesn’t play into whatever trap she’s trying to lay. “City Girl can learn how you like it.”
Cricket huffs, reminding me of a child who isn’t getting their way. “Come on, Kade. I want you to make it. The city girl will screw it up, I just know it.”
“The only thing that screws things up in this place is you.” His words startle me just as much as they do Cricket and her friend. I bite my inner cheek and stand there awkwardly, waiting to see what happens next.
Cricket’s eyes water. “Now, that’s not fair.”
“And what you did was?”
Her lips part to answer, but she doesn’t get the chance.
“That’s enough, Kade.”
Cricket’s back stiffens at the deep tone of a new voice. Gavin is now standing at the table with a hard expression on his face, and Kade clenches his fists at his sides and stares at his brother. The chatter around us has quieted, and when I dare to look beyond the spectacle we’ve created, the people seated at the surrounding tables have stopped to watch and listen. They may have been watching the whole time.
Kade doesn’t say anything to Gavin. Instead, he walks off to the bar, and I’m left standing there, trying to figure out what’s going on .
“Gavin,” Cricket says. “I thought you wouldn’t be here tonight.”
My eyes bounce between the two of them, the tension palpable. Now I’m wondering if the brothers have both slept with her. That would be a cause for awkwardness for sure. But I don’t stay to find out.
I quietly back up and leave, and no one at the table seems to take note of my exit. When I step behind the bar, Kade is fixing a cocktail. He puts the metal shaker over the top of the glass, forearms flexing as he shakes the drink. He’s glaring at the back of Gavin’s head, the flirty and carefree demeanor he had before now gone.
“Are you okay?” I ask, not understanding why I suddenly care how he feels.
“Leave it be, City Girl,” he snaps.
That’s all it takes to make me remember why I shouldn’t care. Why I shouldn’t have even asked. “Right, then.”
“Just go do your job, and stay away from anyone who looks like Cricket.”
I stare into his hazel eyes and know I should leave this conversation because he’s in a mood, but I can’t help myself.
“What’s your issue?” I place a hand on my hip.
That little smirk of his pulls at the corners of his lips, but it’s not flirty this time. “I don’t have an issue, Sweetheart.”
My stomach turns, and I’m left speechless. I’m confused as to why he’s upset with me and intentionally pissing me off—I had nothing to do with whatever happened at that table. Besides, a minute ago, he was trying to defend me. This man is so hot and cold, and I’m questioning even more now why I ever found him attractive.
Kade puts the cocktail on the bar top, adding one of the limes I cut up to the rim.
“Take this to Cricket,” he says, sliding it toward me.
“What is it?” I ask, the pink drink bright in the glass.
“Tell her I call it ‘The Cheater.’”
Then he walks off, leaving me baffled.