Chapter 16
ELLIOTT
UNKNOWN
Happy New Year xxx
Maybe Loren is right. I probably should at least try to make small talk with my date after August went through all the trouble to set us up. Although, from the way he and Tamille are wrapped around each other, I’m not sure his motives were entirely selfless.
Either way, I don’t want him to give me shit for not even trying, so I take a deep breath and push my way onto the pavement dance floor to sidle up next to my date.
“Hey.”
A slow, coy smile teases Tamela’s glossy lips as she peers up at me through lashes that are way too long and thick to be real. “Hey,” she says back.
Now what?
Let’s see…
“Having fun?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Not really a lot to work with there. Time for a drink, I suppose.
And August wonders why I don’t go out on “proper” dates. Isn’t it painfully obvious? I don’t know this woman, have no clue if we have anything in common at all, and I’m just supposed to learn everything there is to know about her in a couple of hours?
At least at the bar, there’s not much small talk.
A woman flirts with you, you flirt back. At the end of the night, you ask her to your place, she says yes, and the deal is done.
We still have a couple of hours until the end of tonight, and I’m not exactly sure how to fill them when all Tamela seems to want to do is dance and I have zero rhythm.
Less than zero. We’re talking negative rhythm here.
I squeeze my cup a little tighter. “So what do you do?”
Why did I ask that question? This isn’t an interview. We’re not swapping resumes. Also, I don’t really care about her answer, so the question feels hollow.
Fuck. I hate small talk.
She pushes my shoulder, never losing the beat. “Right now, I’m dancing.”
I can see that.
I am way too sober for this. “What about when you’re not dancing?”
“Oh.” A giggle. “I’m sort of on a journey of self-discovery at the moment.” She twists her arms above her head while simultaneously rolling her hips, knocking them against mine. “Trying to find what brings me joy.”
Unemployed then.
No judgment here. I did my fair share of “self-discovery” a few years back. It just looked a lot…darker.
Less dancing and more drinking.
Her hands flatten on my chest, then slide down my stomach before heading north again.
I’m all for casual touches, but the way she squeezes my pecs feels dangerously close to groping.
Yeah. I don’t like it.
I step back so her hands fall away.
“You have a great body,” she yells.
Heat climbs my neck, spreading all the way to my ears. “Thanks.” The gym is the best place to blow off steam. With a mother like mine, there tends to be a lot of it.
Apparently, my running away wasn’t hint enough because Tamela does this little side-shuffle to close the distance once more. Then she rakes her nails down my arms, and I use the term “nails” in the loosest sense of the word. They’re more like long neon pink claws that sparkle like her dress.
“A really great body.” Her teeth drag along her lower lip, which I figure is meant to be seductive or whatever, but feels too calculated.
Even when I do bring women back to my place, there’s at least a little connection, superficially. Tamela is hot, but I’m as attracted to her as I am to August.
Strike one.
“Do you come downtown often?”
“Oh, all the time. I love Broadway.”
Strike two.
I’d venture to say most folks who “love Broadway” aren’t from Nashville—or Tennessee for that matter. That or they’re desperately trying to break into the country music scene. Or both.
“Where are you from originally?”
“Oregon.”
“What brought you to Nashville?”
“The music. What else is there?”
The restaurants, the history, the parks, the weather, the lakes, the rivers… I could go on, but there’s no point.
“Can I tell you a secret?” She catches my collar and drags me down so she can shout in my ear. “I’m a singer.”
Strike three.
Not for being a “secret” singer, but for the grabby hands. Normally, I can get on board with grabby, but there needs to be some sort of connection first.
Extricating myself from her hold once more, I force a smile. When my gaze finds Loren’s, she gives me two thumbs up. I must admit, she makes those silly glasses look good.
Too good.
Her cup is empty. Does she need another drink?
She’s not your date, dickhead.
She belongs to someone else.
Maybe so, but technically she’s my guest tonight so the least I can do is ask if she wants another drink. Or food. There are a shitload of vendors.
Probably should ask my actual date first though. “Are you hungry?”
“No!”
Thank goodness. “I’ll be back.” Or not. Tamela doesn’t seem to care as she bobs her head and goes back to dancing with someone else.
The tension in my chest eases a little more with each step I take away from her. Or maybe it’s because of whom I’m walking toward.
Loren bobs her head to the music, her grin growing when she sees me coming.
Probably best not to overanalyze. “Hey.”
She drags her glasses down her nose to waggle her brows over the plastic rims. “Sweet moves, Travolta.”
“Very funny.” I wasn’t even dancing. More like…swaying awkwardly. “I was going to ask if you were hungry but if you’re going to make fun of me—”
“Me? Make fun of you? Never. Also, I’m starving and the smell from that BBQ truck is making me swoon.”
Me too. I’m going to demolish a pork BBQ sandwich. “Come on then. My treat.”
Loren practically skips next to me, but then she stops. “Don’t you want to ask your date?”
“She doesn’t want anything.”
“You sure about that? From the way she was grinding on you, it looked to me like she wanted an Elliott sandwich.”
See? This is how you hold a conversation. Give and take. Ebb and flow. Maybe Loren could give Tamela lessons. Although I’m still not sure I’d want to get to know her that badly.
Everyone is counting down, shouting and laughing, but all I can do is stare at Loren in those glasses, my jacket hanging off her thin shoulders.
She has a boyfriend, dumbass. Stop gawking like you’ve never seen an attractive woman before. My gaze drops but only makes it as far as her lips. The gloss she applied a few hours ago is long gone. Those lips of hers are bare and smiling.
“Happy New Year!” erupts around us but all I can hear is my thundering heart. My feet think it’s a good idea to bring me a step closer.
Abort. Abort!
I must be a fucking superhero because I manage to turn away, only to find Tamela blinking up at me with fireworks reflected in her pale blue eyes a split second before her hands fly to my cheeks and she smashes her mouth to mine.
The force knocks my hat clean off.
I’m so stunned, I don’t even have time to close my eyes.
When my gaze meets Loren’s, pink stains her cheeks. I know I probably shouldn’t do it, but I hold her stare a beat too long before screwing my eyes closed and kissing Tamela while imagining my date tasting like peaches instead of stale beer and cigarettes.
Imagining the sequins beneath my hands are black instead of neon pink.
Fuck. Okay. Who knew all I needed to feel attracted to Tamela was to pretend she was someone else?
I should probably pull back before things get out of hand. Get my head on straight. Banish these thoughts back from whence they came.
Don’t ask me how Tamela ended up with her legs around my hips, but as I ease her back to the ground, my gaze finds Loren’s once more, like a ship lost along a dark shore, searching for the lighthouse to warn them of impending danger.
Loren’s tongue sweeps across her own lips, and part of me wonders if she’s imagining the same thing.
“You need a New Year’s kiss!” Tamela shouts at Loren. My neighbor opens her mouth, presumably to protest, but Tamela takes that as an invitation to stamp her lips over Loren’s.
And I thought her cheeks were pink before. This time, her blush goes all the way down her neck, disappearing under my jacket’s collar.
Loren stumbles back, giving Tamela a jittery smile.
The moment Tamela turns toward her next victim, Loren swipes a hand across her mouth.
Drink.
That’s what I need to wash away the disgusting taste clinging to my tongue. Our gazes catch, and I nod my chin toward Tamela spreading the love to another guy. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with the boyfriend, maybe you can get her number.”
Loren’s throaty laugh wreaks havoc on my self-control. “I would, but I could never date a smoker.”
Neither could I. Not seriously anyway. “Yeah. It’s like making out with an ashtray.”
Meanwhile, August has his tongue down her twin’s throat, his ridiculous top hat sitting cockeyed on his head as they grope each other like no one’s watching.
Get a fucking room.
I shift a little closer to Loren so I can speak to her without going hoarse. “Did you have a good night?”
She bobs her head. “It beats hanging out by myself in my apartment like I did for Christmas. Thanks again for inviting me.”
Hold on. She spent Christmas all by herself? I thought she was going to spend the holiday with family or her boyfriend. Shit. Now I feel like a dick for not stopping by to wish her a Merry Christmas. Not that it was my job to do that.
I thought I hated her boyfriend before.
“Anytime.” I mean that. She’s easygoing, which is rare in my experience. Then again, it could be because she has a boyfriend and isn’t trying to pressure me into something I’m not interested in.
A boyfriend who left her alone on Christmas and New Year’s. What a dickhead. “So, what’s your boyfriend doing in California?”
She scoots her New Year’s glasses onto her head, like one of those headband things, pushing back her curls. “He had to go for work.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
Yeah…I’d bet every cent in my bank account that he’s not really working right now.
I take a sip of warm bourbon and coke to keep myself from saying something I shouldn’t. It’s not like Loren asked for my opinion. If she wanted it, I’d be more than happy to share, but as it stands, my lips are zipped tight.
The sulphury smell of fireworks hangs in the air as the crowd starts to thin. When Tamela asks what my plans are after this, I may or may not lie and tell her that I need to get up early tomorrow as an excuse to go home alone.
August doesn’t have the same reservations. He tells us goodnight and slings an arm around his twin, leaving me with a crowd of people, my neighbor, and thoughts that don’t belong in my head.