Chapter Two #2
They arrived at a bar. They were singing to the juke box, dancing, popping into a photo booth and snapping a strip of photos, when a basket of tacos arrived at the hands of a female bartender who eyed him like candy, like she knew him, knew him, and an inkling of something set in.
This man hadn’t been a celibate priestess like she’d been for the last several years. Had he slept with the bartender before?
This is a night of fun. No strings. He promised on stage.
She wouldn’t be that foolish, young, lost soul anymore, chasing the things that would hurt her most, ever again.
He could have his women. And yet, he didn’t even register the bartender lingering nearby as he lifted a taco and held it to her lips.
“Open up and down the hatch, darlin’. These’ll change your life,” he said, holding a taco overflowing with shredded lettuce and queso fresco to her lips.
She bit in. Savory, spicy, so good, and her eyes rolled shut.
He loaded a huge bite in his mouth. “Huh? What d’you think?”
She licked her lips and smiled. “Good.”
“Good? Pssht, take another bite,” he teased, pushing another bite into her mouth as she laughed. “Damn good is what you meant. And I guarantee you not a lick of it is organic.”
“Okay, damn good.” A rare giggle rolled up her throat.
“Right answer.” He chuckled, gazing at her as if she were the only soul on earth.
He offered another bite.
A piece of lettuce slipped on her lip and she caught it, laughing. “I can feed myself.” She chewed.
“Never said you couldn’t.” He grinned, finishing the first one and offering her the first bite of the second. “But I’m havin’ fun so indulge me. I usually come here on paydays to splurge and grab some shit-for-you candy from that vending machine.”
“Payday? What else do you do, McClintock? Besides ply your guitar strings and vocal cords like a devil.” More bites for her, more bites for him.
He shrugged and chewed, grinning sheepishly. Oh boy, that contrite, hooded expression looked like the biggest lie on this charmer’s handsome face.
“Ain’t a professor like you, that’s for sure.”
Okay, so a nonanswer from the guy who was talented enough to be famous, dressed like an actual rancher, and had the stained nails of a mechanic.
“So? What do you do?” She picked at the lettuce scattered on the basket liner, crunching it.
This time, his jaw … tensed? Hard to tell in the dim lights over the bar and the rolling bubbles up the side of the jukebox, changing from red, to green, to yellow.
He laughed it off uneasily. “Ain’t at all interestin’. Just whatever I can do to make a buck and chase the Nashville dream.” He loaded his mouth, this time, straight-up avoiding.
“My daddy was a transient worker.” She eyed him, because he was all shiny lights on the outside, but now that she was getting personal, she sensed someone who didn’t open up, like her.
“No shame in manual labor, McClintock,” she pressed, taking the bite he held out.
She pressed the filling, threatening to spill off her lips, into her mouth, crunched into the tortilla shell. “Like what?”
“Farm grunt and some tinkering under the hood,” he murmured, the flash of charisma gone.
“Wanted the farm bad. My grandfolks’ farm.
And I run it like a well-lubed piston, thank ye kindly.
But nobody was gonna give a high school dropout a multimillion-dollar operation when I couldn’t even r—” He cleared his throat.
A dropout? Jason had dropped out of college. Fronted a band, too … Why did she agree to come here with him?
“The Harvard lawyer cousin got it. I don’t resent him.
He didn’t know, and fuck but he’s the only one who’s given me a ch…
” That throat cleared again, silencing what she sensed was a constant stream of words out of his mouth, usually spoken first and regretted later.
“It’s a sense of duty for him, not a life, though. He misses lawyerin’.”
“And for you, it would have been a life?”
“Would’ve been roots in the soil,” he murmured, words wistful, as the taco lulled in midair on its way to his mouth for another bite.
“A legacy … Sorry.” He chuckled, shaking his head, when his brow furrowed in curious reflection.
“Ain’t never told anyone that…” Staring at space, he took another bite.
That smile sprang back to his lips and lit up his baby blues. He loaded another bite into her mouth. Loaded another one in his.
“What d’you teach, Flower Girl? Music?” He leaned in.
The juke box was loud.
She shrugged as he held the last taco to her lips, relishing the press of his knees splayed around hers, gently squeezing them as if to hold her to him.
Okay, his foray into personal deets was done.
He fed her yet another bite, swiped his thumb across her lip to push away a crumb and brought it to his mouth to lick, then took another huge one for himself.
“Roots in the soil…” she murmured, smiling at the irony, because she was about to out herself as the biggest nerd, and met his eyes. “Flowers.”
His brows shot up in genuine surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She chuckled.
“How do you do that? ‘This here’s a daisy. This one’s a lilac…’”
“You just teasin’ me or genuinely curious?”
He leveled a look at her as if affronted.
“What?” she defended. “People never take my flowers seriously unless I show them.”
He shoved the remains of their last taco in his mouth and wiped his hands on his thighs, waggling his brows like the worst sort of flirt. “Show me your flower, baby.”
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
“C’mon, I’m serious.” He squeezed her legs with his to punctuate his begging.
“Really? You want to see?”
“Yes.” He notched up his chin, scooped her up off the stool, fingers lacing with hers, and hauled her out the door. “I think I wanna know everything about you.”