Chapter 19
LYRIC
It’s quiet on the drive to the bar. Neither of us is saying much of anything, and I’m trying not to look over at him, because heaven help me, this is the finest man.
His new hat is a rich chestnut brown color, which he paired with deep blue jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, and a leather belt the same color as his hat.
And boots for that matter. He’s crisp. And he smells as good as he looks.
As suspected, his forearm is right in my face.
Every time it flexes, I have to squeeze my legs together.
That sun-kissed canvas, those tattoos, the veins…
it’s more than I can handle in this confined space.
But if I don’t look directly at it, I’m fifty percent less horny.
Horny for a damned forearm is an all-new low.
We pull up and I rush to open my door and jump out. I can’t give him the opportunity to be chivalrous and open my door too. I’m not superhuman. I’ll fold like a cheap suit.
My phone buzzes and, as suspected, it’s Darcy in the group chat.
DARCY
We’re here at a table in the back.
ME
Just arrived.
DARCY
I know, I was stalking your location.
ME
Creep.
We head inside, Waylon walking just ahead of me to open the door. He reaches back and grabs my hand, leading me through the crowd with precision. His tall and broad stature naturally causes the crowds to part and step back. It’s oddly comforting.
“Lyric!” Darcy’s voice booms above the music for a second, capturing our attention from the left.
Waylon changes directions, cutting through the last group standing between us and the rest of our party. They’ve already started drinking.
I run up to Darcy and give her a big hug. “Damn, girl, you look hot for someone who just got engaged to an old guy.”
“I told Ridge we’re getting married in four months, so tonight is about celebrating that news!” Darcy says. “Naturally, I had to dress up.”
She’s decked out in this silky white halter top that she paired with a black flowy skirt and strappy shoes. It’s got a slit in it that runs all the way up near her hip.
“It was the only logical thing to do,” I say with a laugh. “Now, I just need a drink.”
“I’ll grab it,” Waylon says. “It’s packed in here. I’ll be faster.”
I would argue with him on principle, but there’s no denying he’s right, and I don’t feel like giving him a hard time when he’s trying to help me.
“Thank you.”
He nods and disappears into the crowd toward the bar. I turn back to my friend and Killian, who’s the only other person at the table. “Where’s Ridge and Banks?”
“They’re getting drinks, too,” Darcy says. “They left Killian behind to guard me, because apparently, that’s necessary.”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed but not frustrated. And before you ask, there’s totally a difference.
“I’m not a guard. I’m just a lookout,” Killian says, shrugging.
Darcy and I both snap our heads toward him, narrowing our eyes. He looks from my face to hers, and then he drops his shoulders. He leans back into his seat, crossing his arms over his wide chest.
“Fine, I’m a guard,” he mumbles.
We both erupt with laughter, knowing this sets the tone for the rest of the night. And after the week I’ve had, I need a night like this.
I turn and scan the crowd, observing circles of friends and couples, all having fun. The dance floor is full, and the band is actually really good.
“So, what kind of guy are we looking for tonight?” Darcy asks.
“I’d rather not focus on that. I just want to have a good time.”
“Right, but you said you need to move on,” Darcy whispers, leaning in closer to me.
I lift my shoulders and drop them again, letting out a single dramatic sigh. She’s right. Maybe it won’t hurt to look. Right? Ugh, then why does it feel so wrong? No. I’m not going to do this to myself. I’m not going to punish myself or feel bad about something that I’m completely free to do.
“I don’t know, tall and dreamy? A little rugged around the edges? Tattoos would be nice.”
“You’re just describing your roommate,” Darcy says, using her whisper-yell.
“Fine, I’ll take an average-sized man with delicate hands and a flawless porcelain complexion!” I whisper-yell back to fight fire with fire.
“I see your point,” she says. “How about we just try for a nice guy and see where that takes us?”
“Great.”
The guys—all of them—return together with drinks. Waylon hands me a Paloma and sets a water on the table for me.
“Thank you.”
He nods, giving me that grin of his. He takes a sip from the glass in his other hand. It’s a dark liquid.
“It’s just Coke,” he says. “What am I supposed to sip? Water with a lime wedge or something equally disgusting?”
“No, but it clears up something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“You never touch the salads I prepare. No water with fruit. I get it. You like the things that are bad for you.” I smirk and take a sip of my Paloma.
“Don’t I know it,” he says, his words slipping out under his breath.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest. Because what the hell is that supposed to mean? No, I’m reading into nothing. Don’t do that. Don’t make something out of nothing, I remind myself.
“Who’s ready to dance?” Darcy shouts. She grabs Ridge by the hand, pulling him toward the floor. The poor man barely has time to set his drink down, but he’d never tell her no. They’re so in love, it’s disgusting.
Banks rolls his shoulders, scanning the room until his eyes land on a group of women in the corner.
“Kill, you coming?” he asks, nodding his head toward them.
“No, man, that’s all you,” Killian says. “Good luck and Godspeed.”
Banks shrugs and heads off in their direction. He’s such a smooth operator type. He’s got that pretty face that screams boy band, but he’s tattooed from his neck to his fingertips. So he’s like a boy band member gone bad. And I don’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t fall for that.
Just as I watch him walk away, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I whirl around to find a man standing there with a beer in one hand and the other in his pocket.
“Hey there,” he says, thick with a southern drawl. “I’m Steve.”
“Um, I’m Lyric.” I smile politely. Steve isn’t a bad-looking guy. I don’t see any tattoos, but he’s pretty tall.
“Would you like to dance?” He pulls his hand from his pocket and gestures toward the floor.
I immediately look at Waylon, though I’m not sure why. Do I expect him to step in? To protest? Judging by the look on his face, neither is about to happen. Though his eyes do lock with mine, and there’s a palpable feeling I can’t place.
I turn back to Steve and nod. “Sure, I’d love to.” It’s not completely a lie. I do like to dance. Hopefully he’s a good dancer. I’d love to check out of reality and get lost in the music for just a few minutes.
Steve discards his drink on the way to the dance floor, then turns toward me. His hands find my waist and I begin to sway. I close my eyes and instantly know these aren’t the hands I want on me.
There is only one man in this entire bar that I want. And I want it all. His hands. His mouth. His heart.
What’s a girl to do when she can’t have what she wants?
Drink more.