Chapter Five
“That man looked at you at least twenty times,” Maggie boasted.
“That’s dramatic. And it’s kind of hard not to look at someone when they’ve been placed right in front of you,” I said back, my eyes narrowing.
“What? I was just trying to make sure we had a good view of his performance.”
Maggie had insisted on us wiggling our bodies to the front because she said she couldn’t see Stetson from where we had originally started.
“Uh huh. I call bullshit,” I yapped.
“That’s fine. We had a good view, didn’t we?”
“I can’t argue with you there.” And I couldn’t, the view was five stars. We could practically see the sweat beads forming on his face from the obnoxiously bright spotlight Booker had on him.
“You’re welcome. Maybe one day you’ll listen to me.
Hell, your life would probably get a lot easier,” she teased, trying to focus on our conversation but failing miserably.
“Looks like Booker is over at the bar, think I might need a refill,” she said, slurping down the rest of the liquid that filled her red Solo cup. “Want one?”
“No, I’m good, but thanks!” I replied.
Scanning the room for a place to sit, I wandered over to a picnic table and slid onto the bench that was situated on the outskirts of the dance floor. The wooden table was decorated simply, with a handful of tea light candles and a small clear vase filled with bronze-colored daises.
After watching Stetson up on that stage, there was no doubt in my mind why that man was the talk of country music—or the talk of music in general.
I’d seen videos from his concerts, and while this performance was definitely a stripped-down version, it was still incredible.
His voice, the lyrics, the way he exuded confidence in a way that was cocky but understated.
He had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand, specifically the female population. They just couldn’t seem to get enough—myself included. And rightly so. Although, the men appeared pretty infatuated too. Everyone was eager for each line that danced from his mouth.
I filtered through his lyrics, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had a hand in writing any of them.
If I were a betting woman, I’d say probably not.
Most singers had songwriters. A dream job, if you asked me.
Singers themselves were rarely interested in the songwriting aspect of it, but the idea that maybe these words were more than just a paycheck to him was a delightful thought, even if it was a brief one.
“Scarlett…” Delilah’s voice rattled me from my inner dialogue, similar to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“Delilah, it’s good to see you too.”
Delilah Boudreau was a girl I tried to avoid at all costs.
She was the girl who wanted you to think she was too cool for you, despite her intense desire to be a part of every single damn thing that happened in Quincey Falls.
She’d moved to town a few years ago after her daddy bought a bunch of land, and ever since then, she’d done nothing but run around town chasing cowboys and causing problems.
“How long has it been? You know, since the whole wedding debacle.” She pretended to whisper while purposely speaking loud enough for others to hear. “What, like a year?”
“Six months actually.”
“Well, good for you, girl, for trying to get back out there.”
“Thanks.” I forced a smile.
“I mean, it’s not like we’re getting any younger. I just can’t imagine being thirty and having no idea where my life was headed. Good for you for not letting that bother you.” Her tone was almost believable.
Almost.
However, the shit-eating grin on her face was not.
“What can I say? I’m not one to dwell on the past,” I said, grateful that I was quick on my toes and could appear unbothered even if my insides would tell a different story. “It was nice to see you, Delilah. Have a good rest of your night.”
She’d already moved on to her next victim and could care less about the formalities of the conversation. Her bedazzled silver cowboy boots, bedazzled microskirt—I thought that was what these girls were calling them these days—and handmade crop top were enough to send me spiraling.
Delilah was in her early twenties, at least from what I gathered, and lived the life that every social media gal wanted to replicate. She’d never worked a day in her life, her rich daddy funded all her extracurriculars, and her personality solely relied on the way she looked that day.
Quite frankly, I wanted nothing to do with her, but tonight a touch of jealousy threatened to turn me a shade of green. I tried to get Maggie’s attention without drawing any attention to myself.
I’m going to the bathroom, I mouthed.
She nodded.
The eagerness in my steps was halted when I spotted the line. There were at least ten girls snaked around the wall outside of the bathroom. Guess it was probably too big of an ask to get an empty bathroom twice in one night.
I rerouted my path and ended up on the backside of what I assumed were horse stalls. The horse shimmying behind the metal bars and the smell of freshly bailed hay wafting across my nose confirmed it.
My feet shuffled closer to the 1,000-pound red paint, the snorts coming out of her elongated nose only a few inches from my ear now. Not the silence I’d been looking for, but honestly, this was maybe even better.
“Hey, girl,” I said, pressing the back of my hand up and down her muzzle.
The velvety hair sent a warm hug to my insides.
“You ready for this party to be over too?” I pushed my nose to her and inhaled deeply.
I couldn’t stand this close to a horse and not smell it.
That felt illegal, plus the melancholy of the smell calmed the whirling thoughts in my head.
Delilah’s words had worked their way under my skin, forcing themselves into my brain and overstaying their welcome. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quit replaying her comment about being thirty and having no idea where my life was headed.
Over and over.
This night had been a bit of a rollercoaster. At times I felt high on hope, almost as though everything was going to be okay and it would all work out somehow. Other times, I felt like I just wanted to crawl back into my sweatshirt and get horizontal on my couch as soon as possible.
Right now, I was somewhere in between. Which, ironically, was a place I’d been spending a lot of time lately. The in between.
“Still looking for some silence, I see.” The same rugged voice startled me again.
A smile danced behind my lips, drawing me from the darker parts of my thoughts, but thankfully only the horse staring back at me saw.
“Still scaring the shit out of people, I see.” I looked back at him.
“Just you. But in fairness, I keep finding you alone in places even though we’re at a party with at least a hundred people.”
This time I could see him better than I had all night. His resting place of choice was a thick metal beam that was anchored behind me, it appeared to be more for aesthetics than any sort of actual stabilizing.
His denim button-up hugged him tighter than I’d originally thought, giving dimension to his biceps that lay hidden underneath. His jeans, however, were just as tight as I remembered; the bottoms of them fitting snug over his brown boots.
In this light, his body was thicker. Not in a bad way, but in the way that looked like he could protect you, give really good hugs, or maybe push you up against a wall. If you were into that kind of thing, of course.
Let’s just say he was built.
Like a cowboy.
“Couldn’t the same be said about you? You’re also alone, and we’re at the same party,” I rebutted with a smirk, raising an eyebrow in his direction.
“That’s fair.” He nodded, uncrossing his arms and shuffling his boots in my direction, little clouds of dust following behind him. “Although, technically I haven’t been alone yet, considering you’re always here.”
The right side of his mouth curved up as he stepped his body to the left of mine.
We both moved our attention to the red paint that had found her way back over to us.
A waft of his cologne infiltrated my nose; the scent was a rich leather tied neatly together with a lingering, woodsy musk.
The cozy kind of scent that you could wrap yourself in.
“So, it was you,” I confirmed, doing my best to appear unbothered by how close he’d gotten to me even though my heartbeat had migrated from my chest to my ears.
“Yeah, that was me.”
He extended his hand, nearly grazing mine. I abruptly pulled back while anxiously wondering what it would’ve felt like had I let them accidentally touch me.
“You sound surprised?” he questioned, clearly unfazed.
I glanced in his direction, those icy blue eyes of his already awaiting mine.
“Oh, you mean that I was having a heart to heart with Stetson Walker at a party that I probably shouldn’t have come to in the first place?
” I laughed nervously. The waves of doubt splashed against my insides.
After my conversation with Delilah, I was ready to exit stage left. “No.” I paused. “It’s just—”
“It’s just that someone like me could never have a decent conversation with a stranger because I’m always too busy partying or doing stupid shit to have any actual thoughts running through my head?” His voice was softer this time, quieter, and his eyes shifted back to the horse.
“That’s not what I meant,” I insisted. Although, truthfully, that’s exactly what I’d meant. Maybe not to that extent, but pretty damn close.
Hell, on more than one occasion the man had been filmed doing irresponsible, stupid shit with what appeared to be no concept of real life.
The number of videos running rampant on the internet of him wasted, making out with girls, saying cocky shit, and acting like he was untouchable was absurd.
If you’d told me I would be standing inches away from Stetson Walker and not giving him a piece of my mind, I would’ve called you a liar.