Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Vivian
It turns out the hot cowboy is an asshole. And not one that’s a little bit grumpy, but you secretly like him. This guy’s a real prick.
Normally, I mind my own business. Or I try to.
It’s not that I don’t care about other people’s woes.
It’s just you never know what got them there or if they like being there.
So, when the hot cowboy tells his equally hot, if not hotter, girlfriend to stop being such a whore, I bristle.
But then I let it go. At least until I see Jonah’s face.
This man will not let it go. George will never forgive me if his son gets hurt or arrested.
And I have a feeling hot cowboy would like nothing more than to punch my sweet farm boy in the face.
“What are you looking at?” he asks Jonah.
I carefully step between them. “Let’s not be hasty, boys. No one’s looking for a fight.”
Jonah snorts. I turn and poke him in the chest. “No fighting.”
The no-longer-hot cowboy snickers. “Better listen to wifey.”
I whip around and get in his face. “Listen here, dickhead.”
He raises his hands and laughs. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Are you gonna fight me?”
The woman smacks his arm. “Nobody’s fighting. I’m fine. We’re all fine,” she says. “Tony just gets a little dickish when he drinks. A little mouthy. And if he doesn’t stop, I’m cutting him off.”
His eyes go comically wide. “Babe…”
She rolls her eyes. “Not that. I’m cutting you off from alcohol.” Then she narrows her eyes. “Unless you don’t stop being an ass.”
He glowers at us. “Fine.”
“Now apologize to these people.”
“Me apologize?” He puffs up again. “No fucking way am I apologizing.” He waves his hand around. I try to duck, but I’m not fast enough, and he knocks me over.
I flail—I hope no one got that on video—and go down, my face making contact with a table. Thank fuck for alcohol, or the pain would have been excruciating.
I grab my throbbing cheek. Fuck. That’s going to leave a bruise I’ll have to cover.
Jonah growls. His face is almost purple, and he looks ready to murder the guy. I put my hand on his chest. “Hold on, cowboy. I need you. And you can’t help me from jail.”
The woman drags Tony away, and the crowd goes back to drinking.
Jonah brushes his fingers over my face, careful not to touch my cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad yet. But we need ice.”
He leads me to the bar. “Do you guys have ice?” he asks, sounding a little frantic.
It’s cute. It’s not worth the pain and ugly bruise I’ll have tomorrow. But it’s cute.
“I can do you one better,” the bartender says. He pulls out an ice pack and breaks it. “Here you go.”
As I apply it to my cheek, Jonah looks ready to scream or cry. I smack his chest. “I’m the one injured, not you. Let’s go back to our room. Party of two. No assholes allowed.”
As soon as we return from the bar, I change into leggings and a long, comfortable T-shirt. Jonah goes to get supplies.
Not the fun kind. A new ice pack and pain meds.
Meanwhile, my brain is spiraling. Was telling Jonah I needed him a mistake? I might regret it in the morning. I don’t usually let anyone take care of me. People tend to let you down.
But with Jonah fussing over me, I can’t bring myself to regret it. I lean my head against the headboard of our giant king-size bed. I’ve also sobered a little, and I’m not happy about it.
Jonah returns and hands me the pills.
“I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.” Maybe I’m still a little tipsy. But not near enough.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Take your meds, Vivian. You’ll feel better.”
He motions to the ibuprofen I’m holding, and then hands me a glass of water from the nightstand.
I take the medicine dutifully. Sweet, caring Jonah is hard to resist.
He takes the bar ice pack out of my hand. The new ice pack is a bag of ice covered with a hand towel. He places it on my cheek. “Keep it on there.”
I smirk. “Yes, Dad.”
“We need more alcohol,” I say, staring at Jonah like my very existence depends on memorizing every freckle on his cheeks. Every nuance of his sky-blue eyes. “You’re so pretty.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a smile around his mouth. He brushes my hair away from my face. “You’ve definitely had enough.”
“You think I’m lying?”
His eyes shine. “Isn’t that what you do?”
I point at him or try to anyway. My aim is a little off, and Jonah grabs my arm before it hits his face. “Not lying to you. Not this time.” And then I pout. Jonah likes it when I pout.
He laughs. “Stop it.” But his voice is fond as his thumb caresses my forehead. I lean into his touch.
I want to kiss him again. More than that, I want to climb his body and take up residence in his strong arms.
Fuuuck. I’m in so much trouble.
He sits next to me on the bed and leans closer like he’s having the same thought. Or maybe my internal monologue isn’t just in my head.
He’s so close that his breath teases my lips. I close my eyes, anticipation dancing up my spine.
Breenng. Breenng.
Jonah jumps to his feet, and I groan at the loss. What the hell?
He chuckles. “It’s the front desk. Hold on.”
Okay, I might have said that aloud. I close my eyes for a second. The room spins a little, and then the bed dips and the scent of warm vanilla surrounds me.
“Hey.” His voice is soft. Sweet. How in the world did I ever hate this man? This human puppy.
“Hey.” I grin, still not opening my eyes.
“I have a surprise for you. It’s at the front desk.”
“It’s not Carl, right?”
His voice loses some of its softness. “No. Carl is not invited to our party.”
I open my eyes. Jonah’s watching me, and the cute little lines between his brows tell me he’s worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Just rethinking my decisions.”
Happiness drains out of me like one of Maisy’s balloons the day after the party. The loss is slow but final.
“No, Vivian. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong. I don’t regret this,” he says, waving a hand between us. “I don’t regret you.” He brushes his lips over mine.
Knock. Knock.
We both stare at the door. Jonah gently touches my non-injured cheek and then stands and walks to the door. When the knocking continues, he says in a grumpy voice, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
I get up, careful not to fall, and follow him. What’s going on?
He yanks the door open, and Carl is on the other side, giving Jonah an appreciative look. “You said you were coming.”
I try to move in front of Jonah. “Hands off, Carl—”
Jonah blocks my path with his arm. “Vivian, I’ve got this.”
I cross my arms and glare at Carl to let him know I’m watching him.
He tilts his head with a grin. “Hey, cutie. I brought you something.” He pulls his hand from around his back with a “Ta da!”
It’s rum. And not the cheap stuff. It’s my favorite.
“Stop trying to take credit. I bought the rum.” Jonah grabs the bottle out of Carl’s hand.
“It was my idea. Having it delivered was my idea,” he amends.
“Thank you, Carl.” Jonah shoos him with his hand. “Now, go away.”
“Are you sure? My shift is—”
Jonah slams the door in his face. “God, he’s pushy.”
“Forget about him.” I grab the bottle. “Find us some Coke and ice, doll.”
“Are you sure? You seemed out of it before.”
I stride up to him. “You’re so sweet to me, Jonah.” I grin and tap his cheek a few times. “Stop it.”
He gives in and gets the rest of our supplies. The hotel has Pepsi products, not Coke, but at this point, I don’t care. I make us each a drink. “Let’s get this party started.”
Jonah looks a bit worried, but it doesn’t stop him from taking a swig of his drink.
After a couple of drinks, things turn philosophical. And by things, I mean me. This is standard Vivian Beauchesne. “I think it’s better to be heard than seen.”
“What does that mean? How are they different?”
I drain my glass and fill it again. Lifting the bottle, I raise a brow. He shakes his head and then squeezes his eyes shut. Jonah is now past tipsy and has caught up to my drunk-as-fuck stage.
“Shit,” he says with a laugh. “I’m so gone.”
It would be easy to ignore his question. But the answer seems important somehow. “If I’m talking and you hear me, that’s intentional on my part. Within my control.”
“Um…okay.”
My thoughts tumble around, refusing to cooperate with my brain. I take a deep breath to slow them down.
“Being seen means you get me. You can see past the—” I stop as the word catches in my throat.
But the alcohol makes it easier to push through.
“Past the pretty face to the person underneath. The beautiful parts…there are some. And the ugly parts.” There are too many of those.
“Being heard is standing up for what you believe in. Being seen is…” Am I really doing this?
Less than a week ago, this man was my sworn enemy.
Now, I’m giving him the keys to the car so he can run me over.
“Being vulnerable.” Jonah stares at me, drunken wonder in his voice. His head drops. “Is it worse if no one tries to see you? They assume that what they can see is all there is.” He wraps his arms around himself. “I do more than lift things.”
“You make a good bodyguard.” I touch his arm, wanting to erase the sadness on his face. “But you’re also more than that.”
His eyes are sharper than I expect, given how many drinks he’s had.
“Anytime I try to ‘protect you,’” he says, using air quotes, “you push me away.”
He’s not wrong. “That’s more about me than you.”
Scooting closer, he takes my hand. “Why do you do it?”
“Nope.” I shake my head to emphasis my words. “Not happening.” I can’t admit that to Jonah. It’s too humiliating. Ugh. Why did I drink so much?
“Please?” He moves so close he’s practically in my lap. Or rather, I’m practically in his.
“Not everything. But something.”
“Jonah…”
His jaw tightens. He’s angry. At me? “Your dad’s an asshole.”
I choke on nothing. Air? Spit? He’s not wrong. But the need to defend my father’s actions just pisses me off. “My father has his reasons.”
“Whatever. You wanted to deck those queens today.” He raises his eyebrows.
“That’s not a question,” I point out, just in case he’s too drunk to notice. “And they were mean to you.”