Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Griffin
“ I ’m here because you’re here.”
“No, no, no. I said I wanted space.”
“Fine.” I slide two stools down, drop onto the vinyl seat, and spread my knees wide like I own the place. “There you go. You’ve got space.”
The bartender chuckles under his breath. “Nothing like true love, am I right?”
“Nothing like it in the world,” I reply, my gaze fixed on Reese.
“Can I get you something, man?”
“Yeah. Beer. And put her tab on mine.”
“Absolutely not,” Reese snaps, spinning toward me with fire in her eyes.
The bartender just lifts a brow, leaving us to it, and sets the beer in front of me.
Meanwhile, Reese is glowering from her bar stool, trying like hell to glare a hole through me.
Trouble is that her glare is adorable. Just like on that first day, when she was covered in dust.
I smirk around the rim of my bottle. “Go on. Keep glaring. I gave you space. I did what you wanted. Besides, this place will be so crowded soon, you won’t be able to see me.”
Almost as if on cue, the locals begin packing into the bar. The crowd thickens, voices rising over the clink of bottles and the buzz of the jukebox.
No way this empty seat between us will stay that way for long.
Sure enough, a blonde in too-tight jeans wedges into the narrow space between the empty stool and the bar. Her hand skims down my arm, nails grazing my sleeve. “This seat taken, handsome?”
Reese moves fast, slipping off her stool like she’s been burned. She drops into the space before the woman can, crossing her arms tight against her chest. “Actually,” she says flatly, “I’m sitting here.”
The blonde huffs and wanders off, while I bite back a grin. At least I’ve got my girl next to me now.
Reese avoids my eyes, staring hard at the bottles lined up behind the bar. “No way am I letting you have fun if I’m not.”
Why the hell would she think that? I’m not the one who wanted space.
I tug my hat off and rake a hand over my scalp, jaw tight. “Baby, I don’t want anything to do with her.”
“Good.” She mutters into her glass. “She looked too high-maintenance for you, anyway. Trouble you don’t need.”
I tip my head, watching her closely. “Maybe the truth is, you wanted to sit next to me. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Her gaze dips to her drink, voice low. “There’s a guy across the bar who’s been staring since I walked in. Said something when I went to the bathroom, but I couldn’t hear it. That’s why I switched seats. I feel safer next to you.”
She shifts, trying for nonchalance as she lifts her glass. “Besides, you might not catch any SOS signals I’m sending up if you’re too busy flirting with Blondie.”
For a second, I wonder if she’s just saying that—making up excuses to stay close, to sit beside me. God knows I’d never complain.
But then my eyes sweep the room, landing on a broad-shouldered bastard nursing a whiskey at the far end of the bar. He meets my stare, bold as hell. Buddy, I’ll put you through the fucking wall if you so much as say hello to my woman.
I slide my arm across the back of her chair, dipping close enough for my breath to stir her hair. “Anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll take care of it. You feel me?”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting the instinct to argue. Instead, what comes out is soft, almost shy. “Thank you.”
The distance between us doesn’t vanish, but it shifts—like a crack of light through a locked door.
Still, I know better than to rush it. She needs to lead.
“You wanted to get away, so what’s the plan, beautiful?” I nudge her knee with mine.
Reese mutters, lifting her glass like a shield. “Drinking until I don’t hurt anymore.”
The words punch me in the chest, stealing my breath. She doesn’t elaborate, and I know now’s not the time to push. Still, my eyes stay on her, willing her to open up, to let me in.
She must feel it, because she finally looks up, dark eyes pinning me. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”
I nod, tapping the rim of her glass with mine. “Okay. Then I’ll put on some drinking songs.” I knock back another swallow, then push off the stool. “Any requests?”
She shakes her head, eyes on her drink, but she doesn’t tell me to leave. I’ll take what I can get.
An hour later, Reese is still quiet, but her sharp edges have dulled. A few songs and another drink have her humming under her breath, even smiling once or twice. We’ve traded some small talk—safe, simple stuff—but I can see the storm still swirling beneath her skin.
A pair of women wander past on their way to the bar, one giving me a slow once-over, the other whispering something behind her hand.
But I barely pay them any mind.
I’m watching Reese. Always her.
On their way back, the same women slow near my stool, cheeks flushed from too many drinks.
“You look like a real cowboy,” one of them says, eyeing my hat.
Oh boy, here we go.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“You ride horses?” the other asks, leaning in like she already knows the answer.
“Almost every day.”
Her smile widens. “See? Told you he was perfect.”
I tip my chin toward Reese, my voice steady. “Hope my lady thinks so.”
They giggle and wander off, leaving me with nothing but the scent of cheap perfume and the sight of Reese glaring at her glass like it’s personally offended her.
“Do you ride horses?” Reese mimics, arching her brow in disgust and earning a chuckle from me.
“I was just sitting here.”
“Well, that’s the problem.” Reese pivots her barstool toward me, throwing a hand up and huffing in disgust. “You need to stop doing that.”
What the hell did I do this time ? “Doing what exactly?”
“Being all sexy and shit.” She waves her hand in my direction, cheeks flushed from whiskey. “The way you’re sitting there. That look on your face. Just stop. Stop being so damn attractive.”
I can’t help the laugh rumbling in my chest. Hell of an ego boost, darlin’.
I tug my hat lower over my eyes. “Better?”
Her groan is instant. “No. That’s sexy too. God, it’s aggravating.”
Do I love how I get to her? Absolutely. And I know she sure as hell gets to me. Especially now that I know how she tastes. How she feels.
And fuck, now I’m nursing a hard-on.
“Same goes for you.”
Reese snorts, shaking her head. “No. I’m not sexy. I’m funny and smart and clever with terrible taste in men.”
“You used to have terrible taste in men,” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But it’s looking up now. And Christ, you’re so fucking sexy it kills me.”
She rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but I push anyway.
“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.” Reaching out, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger.
Reese shrugs away from my touch, but I see the hint of color climbing her neck. “Nothing. Will you stop touching me?”
“No,” I growl, dragging my fingers along her jaw, down the line of her throat. “I love touching you. And I think you love it, too. In fact, I think you like me. A whole damn lot.”
At least, I pray you do.
Although after her one-eighty earlier today, I’m not sure anymore.
Her gaze dips, softer now. “That’s the trouble. I more than like you.”
This time I hear the words. Clear as day. And it’s enough. Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that alcohol doesn’t hide the truth—it drags it out, raw and unpolished.
It also softens the edges. Otherwise, drunk dialing your ex wouldn’t be a common occurrence, along with drunk hookups with said ex.
Just saying.
Reese is angry. She’s fighting me every step of the way. But underneath it all, she cares.
Right now, that’s enough.
The jukebox flips, and a new song pours out of the speakers.
Reese rests her chin on her hand with a wistful laugh. “Oh God, I love this song. They played it at every dance when I was a teenager.” Her smile falters. “Not that I ever got picked.”
I push off my stool and offer her my hand. “Then you’re getting picked tonight. Dance with me.”
Reese stares at my outstretched digits but doesn’t move. “I wasn’t dropping hints, Griffin.”
Wrapping my hand around her waist, I lift her from the stool. “Good thing I don’t wait for hints. Come on—let me spin you around the floor. Give you something to brag about at the high school reunion.”
Reese laughs and shakes her head as she slips her hand into mine. “Fine, but just because I like this song.”
“Obviously, since you’re still angry at me.”
“Exactly.”
I chuckle. “You sure about that?”
She wobbles her head from side to side, lips twitching. “Pretty sure. Yes.”
I grin, tugging her closer. “Is the whiskey softening you a little?”
“That might have something to do with it.”
“Then I’ll take what I can get,” I murmur, steering her toward the dance floor. “Because you’re still dancing with me.”
After finding us a small section of wood, I pull her close, her body fitting against mine like it was made for me. She’s so damn small—she barely comes up to my chest—but she fills every inch of the hollow space inside me.
“Know why you didn’t get picked?”
She spins once, coming back into my arms with a shrug. “Because I was tiny. Awkward. Glasses. That about sums it up.”
“Bet you were adorable.”
She snorts. “Not even close.”
“You didn’t get picked,” I murmur, tightening my hold on her waist, “because you were waiting for me.”
She doesn’t respond, just lets me inch her closer until her head rests against my chest. For the first time since I walked into her office earlier today, the tension in me eases, and I press a soft kiss to her hair, silently praying the song never ends.
But of course, it does. The final notes fade, swallowed by the start of another, and she pulls back as if waking from a dream.
“Thanks.” The softness in her face slips behind a practiced mask as she pulls from my arm. “I appreciate your dancing with me.”
“I’ll dance with you all night.”
Tears fill her wide, dark eyes as she blinks them away. “No point.”
She turns toward the bar, leaving me to watch her retreat. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the hell I did wrong.