Chapter 18
Ivy
I stick my hand into the top of my dress, and lift each breast to make sure they’re sitting as high as possible.
Taking a final look in the one and only mirror this motel room has to offer, I appreciate my efforts.
I have to stand on top of the toilet seat because the mirror is above the sink, but I make due.
I look good.
I pulled a strapless mini dress out of a box in the corner, along with my knee-high heeled boots I've had forever that give me a few extra inches. The dress has a tight bodice and flares out in the skirt just enough to make it perfect for dancing.
My hair is freshly washed, and my waves decided to behave today, giving me perfectly voluminous hair. I put on some light makeup, which I had to dig through another box for. I’m pretty sure it’s all expired, but it’s fine. It did the job.
I reapply my lip gloss and pop a stick of gum in my mouth before reapplying my deodorant. I’m supposed to be at The Whiskey Hollow at seven, and it’s ten til’, so I grab my keys—car and motel room—and head downstairs.
When I pass by the front office I see Robert, the owner, wave through the window to get my attention. I wave back, and open the front office door.
“Hi, darlin’. Just wanted to see if you needed to pay up for the next week,” he says while pushing his wire framed glasses onto his forehead.
“Yeah, probably. I’ll let you know,” I tell him, offering a small smile. He’s a nice guy, and has actually been a comforting presence in this strange limbo I’ve been in.
He nods. “Will do. Have a good night.”
“Thanks, Robert.”
He waves goodbye and returns to his game of solitaire as I step back outside.
I’ve looked for a place to rent every day since arriving here, and have yet to find anything. Between work and visiting Rose in the evenings, I just haven’t had much time.
I’ve asked around a bit, but don’t want to spread the word too much in fear of it getting back to someone I don’t want to know. Something has to give soon though, because there’s only so many more showers I can take in that bathroom. The water pressure is nearly non-existent.
————
The moment I walk into the bar, I’m met with a wall of noise and bodies throughout the large space.
Low lights, loud music, and a packed crowd.
Yep, definitely a Saturday night for the only good bar in town.
I’m not surprised, Maverick has done a great job keeping this place alive.
I scan the crowd until I see a mop of platinum blonde hair in the far corner near the dance floor.
I weave through the tables and people, spotting Sophie pushing together two tables. When I approach her from behind, I wolf-whistle. She whirls around, sees it’s me, and smiles.
Sophie is like what you would imagine if you were asked to draw a goddess.
Thick, long blonde hair, flawless skin and big blue-green eyes.
She has curves for days, and a rack I could only dream of.
Tonight she’s wearing cowboy boots with a tight as hell denim mini skirt, a white top that does nothing but wonderful things for her chest.
“Damn, girl. You look hot,” I tell her honestly.
She looks down at herself.
“Oh good. It looks okay?” she asks with a worried look in her eye, gently readjusting her skirt.
Puzzled, I cock my head. It’s not like Sophie to worry about what other people think of her. I scan her head to toe, as she continues to fidget. Why would she care to make sure she looked good tonight? It’s just Beau’s–
Oh.
Ohhhh.
I wrap her up in a big hug, and whisper into her hair.
“Is this what’s going on with you? Is that what you don’t want to talk about?”
“Maybe.”
“You and Beau?”
“Not for a long time.”
“How long?”
“About ten years.”
Oh shit.
“First boyfriend?”
She makes a non-committal noise.
“First love?”
That gets me a nod.
“First… time?” I prod.
She hesitates, then nods.
“Okay. So DEFCON 1. Got it.”
Another nod.
I hear a loud throat clear, and we both turn toward the interruption. Sophie and I have been hugging and whispering into each other’s hair for a few minutes. It probably looked a little strange.
Maverick stands there with a beer in his hand, and his eyebrows raised.
“Who died?” he asks.
“You, if you don’t leave us alone,” Sophie snipes.
Maverick raises his hands in surrender. “Woah, easy there tiger,” he replies, then walks back in the direction of the bar.
“Sorry, Mav!” I call out over the crowd, and music. “Girl talk!”
He throws up his middle finger without looking back, making Sophie and I laugh. I make eye contact with Chase behind the bar, and give him a polite smile. He winks back, but it does nothing for me. Nothing like when someone else winks at me, which just makes me sad.
Chase is a nice guy, and he really tried.
He kept making plans for us to hangout, but I just kept blowing him off—like an asshole.
After the third reschedule, he called me out on my shit, and I just told him I wasn’t in a place to date anyone.
He was really cool about it, and told me there were no hard feelings.
When Sophie and I break apart, I hold her at arm's length and look her in the eye. “You’re the hottest girl in this room, Soph. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” I assure her.
It all makes sense now. She’s been acting weird since Lincoln announced Beau would be moving back. Maybe I could’ve pieced it together sooner, but I’ve been preoccupied with a certain boss, Rose, and finding a new place to rent. My mind has been elsewhere.
“I’m sorry I didn’t pry more, or put the pieces together sooner. You could’ve told me,” I say.
“Don’t be,” she shakes her head quickly, “I wasn’t ready to talk about it. But I’m relieved you know now.”
Sophie looks over my shoulder, and tenses. Her cheeks pinken, and she waves. I turn, watching Lincoln, Beau and Wes coming toward us. I see Beau glance at Sophie, before quickly averting his gaze.
Wes finally looks up from the ground and our eyes meet. He looks me up and down and I do the same to him. God, he’s so fucking hot. Same plain black T-shirt, same black jeans and boots, but he looks a little more polished than normal.
His hair looks combed, and not just by his fingers.
Maybe it’s a little shorter too? Did he get a haircut?
It’s still long enough on top, made apparent by the rogue strand falling into his eyes, but trimmed and cleaned up on the sides.
I want to climb him like a tree. My mouth is watering. I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating.
When the guys finally meet us at the table, Sophie starts talking to Lincoln and Beau about ordering food, moving them toward the table, while Wes and I continue to stare.
“Hi,” I greet him, hands clasped behind my back, my nerves making their way to the surface. The movement pushes my chest out unintentionally, and Wes’s eyes flick down.
“Hi. You look fuckin’ beautiful,” he replies, as his deep blue eyes give me another once over.
Shocked by his compliment, I feel my neck and cheeks heat. I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thanks, you do too.”
He quirks a brow, and his lips tug up. “Beautiful, huh?”
I nod, giving him my megawatt smile. “So gorgeous,” I quip, kissing my finger tips for the chef’s kiss effect.
The crowd is starting to pick up, and someone accidentally bumps into Wes from behind.
He takes the hint and ushers us over to the tables Sophie put together, with a hand resting just above my ass.
He pulls out a chair, and gestures for me to sit.
I drop down in the wooden chair and Wes surprisingly takes the seat next to me.
Maverick strides up to the table and flips the end chair around, plopping down, and resting his forearms on the back of it.
“Chase is going to cover for me for a couple hours so I can hang. But don’t be surprised if I get up and start working anyway. I can’t help it,” he says.
We all order drinks and start to socialize. Beau talks about his parents’ practice he’ll be taking over, and his move from the city. Lincoln tells stories from their childhood that make me laugh so hard, my vodka soda goes up my nose.
About a half an hour later, everyone’s got a good buzz going, and having a good time. Wes asks me something, but I don't catch what he said.
“What?” I speak up over the noise of the crowd and music in the background.
He turns toward me in his chair, grabs the bottom lip of my seat and effortlessly scoots me all the way over to him. He spreads his legs wide, and leans into me. Brushing my hair off my shoulder, he speaks directly into my ear. “I’m asking if you want another drink.”
His breath skates over my ear and neck, making goosebumps break out over my entire body.
“Yes, please,” I reply in the most even tone I can manage. I turn my head slightly so our noses almost touch, and lock eyes with him.
He dips his chin once, quickly glances at my mouth, then scoots his chair back to get my drink.
I look across the table at Sophie, who is waggling her eyebrows at me already, and I fan myself with my hand dramatically.
Wes returns with my drink—the second and last of the night.
If I have any more, I’ll get sleepy drunk, and not fun drunk.
Wes sits down sideways again, and I instinctively turn into him. He's man-spreading, with my legs between his. He sets my drink on the table beside me.
“Thank you,” I say softly. I don’t really know how to behave around him right now. He’s acting like a completely different person.
“Of course.”
I look down at his arms, admiring his tattoos, and trace one of them with my nail.
“Do your tattoos have any meaning?” I’ve always wondered what they are, and what they’re of.
“Some,” he says, “Some I just liked.”
“This one’s beautiful.” I point at the red flower that covers the top of his hand.
“Lilah’s birth flower, poppies,” he replies.