Chapter 2 #4
“—and so, on account of the Unity Bugle, the law was handed down that two people who’d pledged their troth on the town green and proven their commitment to one another would be joined, no matter who had somethin’ bad to say about it.
Peace and unity were restored to the town.
Moriah and Barnaby lived happily ever after.
And the spirit of goodwill, good fortune, and good friendship remains in the bugle to this very day!
” Van sniffed and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Uh.” I peered at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Fine,” he choked. “It’s just so beautiful, you know? The bugle story. Like a fairy tale.”
“Right. Sure. So… question.” I cleared my throat. “In your expert opinion, what’s the best way to pick someone up at a bar?”
“Pick someone… Were you even listening?” Van huffed.
“Obviously. I heard every word,” I lied. “It’s about… unity. And… friendship.”
Van appeared mollified. “Well, then. To answer your question, I’d say you buy a drink for the lady or lad… you have your eye on.”
I raised an eyebrow. My brothers Reed, Porter, and Hawk were all gay, so folks figured I was, too, deep down, especially after Amanda and I divorced.
They kept providing me supportive opportunities to come out, which was sweet, in an ass-backwards way, and also excruciating. I felt like I constantly had to prove my straightness.
“Van, if I had my eye on a lad, I wouldn’t keep it a secret,” I informed him. “So you buy the drink… and then what?”
“And then… I dunno.” Van scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What do you want to have happen from there? You looking for a fun night or something permanent?”
The reality of my situation crashed down on me like a bucket of cold water.
I was not a hookup guy. I never had been.
But I was also not a relationship guy. Not anymore.
And I couldn’t imagine navigating the boundaries of a casual in-between thing, when I was already focused on Aiden’s custody, and running my business, and taking care of my brothers and sister, and winning the Cold War with Luke Williams, who was trying to annex my fucking orchard like fucking Napoleon.
“Whoa,” Van said. “You looked murder-y for a second there.”
Probably because I was.
“Never mind,” I told Van, grinding my teeth. Then I shook my empty glass. “Just keep ’em coming, okay?”
I watched the hockey for an entire period, sucking down more Rusty Spikes and ignoring Van’s concerned eyeballs while the alcohol spread out from my stomach to all of my limbs in hot little tendrils.
It wasn’t unpleasant at all… but it also wasn’t as distracting as I’d hoped, because now that Luke Williams was in my brain, every sip of my drink just seemed to cement his presence there.
Knox was super wrong, I realized. The last thing I needed was to avoid the man—I’d been trying to do that for months, and it hadn’t worked. No, what I needed to do was confront him. Look into his weird, big eyes and tell him that I was not fooled by his pretty smile—
Pretty?
I scowled at the television. Jesus fuck, Luke Williams was literally making me lose my mind.
“Hey, Van?” I tapped my glass again.
Van looked at me closely. “You got a ride home, right?”
I rolled my eyes. Having people up in my business was the best-worst part of small-town life. “Yep. Knox, when the town meeting lets out.”
He glanced over my shoulder. “Think you can give your neighbor a lift home, then? He’s been tossing back the Rusty Spikes, too. Been talking to himself in the corner for the last thirty minutes at least.”
I half laughed. Some fools just couldn’t hold their liquor.
“Of course. Which neighbor?”
“The new teacher. Luke Williams.” Van pointed toward a shadowed booth on the far side of the room.
“Wait.” The whole world became a record scratch, and I turned my stool so quickly my head spun. “Wait, wait, wait. That’s Luke Williams?”
My nemesis had been here in this bar all along?
“Yeah, he said he—Webb? Where ya goin’?” Van called as I pushed off the stool.
I didn’t answer him. I’d gotten halfway across the floor before I noticed that I was walking, and once I’d thought the word walking, the whole process became trickier, especially when I tried to add talking into the mix.
When I saw that distinctive cow-lick-y hair and sweater vest, I lost control entirely.
“Hey! I have things to say to you—” I began.
Then I tripped over my own feet and stumbled, catching the edge of the booth and barely stopping myself from going ass-up in the center of the table like a Christmas roast.
Luke didn’t seem nearly as startled as he should’ve been to have six-foot-three inches and two hundred pounds of irate Sunday practically land in his lap. In fact, when his big blue eyes finally managed to focus on my face, he smiled, like he’d been waiting for me to show up.
I frowned.
Really, who had eyes that color blue? It was an absurd color.
Insufferable.
Inexplicable.
“Oh, Webb,” the man said happily, clasping a hand to his chest. “Thank goodness it’s you!”
I sucked in a breath, and my nose caught the faint tang of woodsmoke clinging to his sweater vest and the sweet-rough scent of whiskey on his breath. I couldn’t help inhaling deeply… and my cock stirred against my zipper, despite all the Rusty Spikes coursing through my bloodstream.
Huh. Turned out my feelings about woodsmoke and whiskey were at least as strong as my feelings about coconut shampoo.
Well, fuck.