Grace
Four Weeks until the Rodeo
From my position on Dad’s couch, I have the perfect view of the porch and the street beyond.
I’ve spent the past fifteen minutes sitting here, staring and all but manifesting Carson’s arrival.
Her flight landed an hour ago, so she should be here any minute.
I can’t keep still, my legs bouncing up and down in place with excitement.
It’s only been a few weeks since we last saw each other, but when you live with someone, going that long without seeing one another is bizarre.
A taxi rolls down the street and I jump, almost taking out Dad’s coffee table, when it slows to a stop outside. I motor down the front stairs and launch myself into the waiting arms of my best friend with a squeal.
“My god, it’s so good to see you!”
“I missed you!”
“I missed you!”
Our excitement amplifies our tones to a dolphin-like frequency, our words overlapping.
We release each other with another squeal, and I help grab her bags—all four of them, plus her guitar case.
“Did you bring the entire apartment with you, Cars?”
“A star needs outfit options, G. And I don’t know if you know, but I’m kind of a big deal now. Headlining-a-rodeo-festival-in-Tennessee type of big deal.”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. She might say things like this in jest, but she’s actually one of the most modest people I know, with confidence and charisma to boot. “Right then, superstar, shall we get you inside?”
Carson slides a pair of bug eye sunglasses from atop her head onto her face, and I take in the entire ensemble—her brunette bangs are styled artfully around her face, the lengths twisted into a messy updo on the crown of her head.
The two-piece burgundy sweatsuit paired with some chunky sneakers is the perfect mix of style and comfort; classic Carson travel attire.
She’s fully embodied the superstar look today.
“Absolutely, we’re burning daylight already.”
“And that’s an issue because...”
“Because,” she says, her voice velvety smooth and suspicious as hell, making me turn around and see the devilish grin, “we need to get ready. We’re going out.” The last word is practically sung, excitement oozing.
“Cars, this is small town Tennessee, not Nashville.”
“G, this is cowboy central. You telling me there’s no bar in this town? Because I’d bet my record deal that that’s bullshit.”
I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she is. “You’re going to lose one of those bets one day.”
“Well thank heavens that day ain’t today. Now scoot, we’ve got cowboys to impress.”
I raise my eyebrows at her and she casually waves a hand. “Retraction, I have cowboys—plural—to impress. You, my darling, have a Beaumont to let yearn for you.”
“I really don’t think I’d call it—”
“Oh, my sweet child. From what you’ve told me, that man has some Noah Calhoun-level yearning going on.”
The surprised sound that escapes me is somewhere between a gasp and a scoff. “Carson, please tell me you did not just compare Tucker and I to one of the most tragic romance couples of modern history.”
It’s Carson’s turn to roll her eyes. “Obviously I wasn’t referring to the end of the movie, you drama queen.
That man yearns like it’s nobody’s business, and I was simply saying that Tuck sounds like he learnt a thing or two from Noah.
It’s incredible the life lessons men could learn if they bothered to watch romance movies. ”
Just over an hour later, we’re standing on the street outside Beaumont Ridge’s one and only bar—Bull Rush. While we watch a group of people wander inside, Carson glances at me out the corner of her eye. “I suppose you were right about the dress code in this place.”
There’s a couple of small groups gathered around the barrel tables out the front of the bar too, and there’s not an ass in sight that isn’t donning denim or a foot that hasn’t been slid into a boot.
Despite sunset being a couple hours ago, most of the men wear cowboy hats too.
I even spot a few of Dad’s most popular styles.
“How do I look?” Carson asks, propping one hand on her hip as she strikes a pose.
After twenty minutes of debating, she’d finally caved at my insistence that nobody would be wearing anything flashier than a pair of cowboy boots.
Having ditched the party dress and heels she’d proposed, she instead picked a pair of denim cut offs and a silver cowl-neck halter top.
She looks incredible. Her figure is what dreams are made of, and the large buckle belt around her waist only accentuates that.
“Like a very hot disco ball.”
She gives me a satisfied nod. “That’s exactly what I was going for. You, however,” she lets out a low whistle, pointing her finger up and down my body. “You look like sex on legs. Dressed like this, you could get Tucker to bark like a dog with just a look.”
I choke on a laugh. “Oh my god, Carson. You cannot say things like that in public.”
“Babe, I’m just stating a fact.”
With a playful roll of my eyes, I look down at my outfit.
The red, faux leather corset top accentuates my curves perfectly, and gives my smaller-than-average chest the boost it so desperately needs.
I’ve also gone with a pair of cut offs that leave little to the imagination, and my knee-high cherry red boots pull the whole outfit together seamlessly.
Maybe Carson does have a point.
She bumps her hip into mine, grinning. “I hope you’re ready to get your drink on, Clark.”
My lips stretch wide, mirroring her smile. It’s been too long since I’ve had a night out with my best friend. “Oh, Avery, you’re on.”
We burst through the barn doors of the bar into the bustling crowd. Given it’s a Friday night, the place is buzzing, and the music is almost tangible. The dance floor is alive, and the bar is crowded. We snake through the crowd and find a small gap, waiting to grab the bartender’s attention.
“Oh shit!” I hear someone exclaim from behind the bar, drawing my attention.
A hatted head pops through the staff door, looking vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Grace Clark, is that you?” he asks in a thick southern accent.
He looks several years younger than me, with untamed blonde hair sticking out beneath his hat and a jawline that could cause serious harm.
None of these things help me figure out who he is though, leaving me metaphorically—and physically—scratching my head.
He lets out a small chuckle, not meeting my gaze. “It’s me, Sully.”
No fucking way.
The noise I make is a scary mix of a shriek and a gasp. “Oh my god, Sully! Wow, when did you grow up? You were like three feet tall and scrawny as hell the last time I babysat you.”
He lifts his hat and roughs a hand through his wild locks.
Smirking, the hat is returned to his head and slides right on.
“Woah now, Grace, let’s not embarrass me in front of the pretty lady.
” He flashes a panty-dropping smile Carson’s way.
“I’d hardly call what you and Tuck did babysittin’.
Hudson and I were at least grade-school age.
As for the size difference, a couple of weight sessions and a few growth spurts helped, but it was sort of inevitable over a decade or so. ”
A throat clears beside me.
“Oh my god, I’m being so rude. Sully, this is my best friend, Carson,” I say, arm outstretched to show her off. “Cars, this is Sully, who I’ve known since he was practically in diapers.”
Sully comes around the end of the bar and makes a dramatic display of bowing in front of Carson, dipping his head and removing his hat momentarily. “Sully Michaels, ma’am.” He grabs her hand in his, placing a kiss on the back. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Carson and I meet each other’s gazes, laughing in unison. “Carson Avery; pleasure’s all mine.”
Recognition flickers in Sully’s eyes when Carson introduces herself, but it’s clear he can’t pinpoint why. Seemingly letting it go, he continues. “Don’t let Grace here put you off with her dramatics—I was well outta diapers by the time we’d met, and haven’t worn them for years now.”
“Before you ask, yes, he’s always been like this,” I tell Carson with a playful roll of my eyes.
Sully stands at his full height, which has got to be at least six feet, plus a couple inches. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, Grace.”
“You take it in whatever way helps you sleep at night, slick.” The old nickname comes out so easily, it’s like no time has passed.
It’s one thing seeing Tucker after all this time, but it’s a different thing entirely to see all the other people from my past. It’s almost bittersweet seeing all these people I grew up with, all of who I haven’t spoken to since I left.
Thank God we were all still so young back then, otherwise my welcome home might not have been as friendly.
Seeing them all again causes some lingering guilt to bubble in my stomach though.
I didn’t try very hard to stay in touch after I left—in fact, I almost made it my mission to do the opposite after things broke down between Tucker and I—but I regret that now.
Being welcomed back with such open arms by everyone I left behind is a feeling I never thought I’d experience.
A rumbling chuckle is his only response. His eyes slide down to our empty hands. “What’ll it be, ladies? I can’t have two gorgeous women standin’ empty handed at my bar. Might give folks the wrong impression.”
I hold up a hand to halt him. “Hold up, your bar?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a dip of his head. “Well, technically Ma and Pa are still the ones on the paperwork, but it’s mine in every other sense of the word.”
Shaking my head lightly, I let out a low whistle. “Damn, Sully, you’re like a full-blown, responsible adult now. I don’t think you’d ever even worked a day in your life the last time I saw you.”
“C’mon now, Grace, I’m only twenty-three. I might be a working professional right now, but hang around another hour and you’ll see just how irresponsible I still am. Now, how’s about those drinks?” He sports a devilish grin as his eyes dart back and forth between Carson and I.
“Two tequila shots, slick. It’s girls’ night.” The wink Carson gives Sully almost puts him on his ass.
Thankfully for his sake, he recovers quickly, sending her a wink in return. “You’ve got it, gorgeous.”
“Make that four,” comes a melodic southern accent from behind us.
I turn with a smile as Whitney slides in between Carson and I, slipping an arm around my shoulder and kissing me on the cheek.
She looks toward Carson with a smile that reaches her eyes.
“You must be Carson, it’s so nice to meet you.
Grace has told me so much! I’m Whitney, but my friends call me Whit.
And this is Kenny.” Whit pulls the petite brunette to her side with a grin.
Whit’s paired some knee-high black boots with a denim dress that looks like second skin, and will definitely have a few jaws hitting the floor.
She’s also straightened her normally wavy hair, making it look like a sleek copper blade slicing through the air as she flicks her head.
Kenny’s outfit couldn’t be any more different—a white, flowing mini dress paired with bright red boots and a matching belt.
Her long, dark hair is twisted into an effortless messy bun atop her head, with a few loose curls framing her face.
“It’s so great to meet you both. G’s told me so much about y’all, too.” Carson hands them each a shot, beaming. “By the sound of things, we’re going to get along well.”
We salt and lime up, and Kenny raises her shot glass. “To girls’ night,” she declares.
“To girls’ night!” Carson, Whit and I parrot, before we all down our shots to the echoes of a few coughs and sputters.
“Y’all sound like a couple of first timers.” Sully collects our glasses with a laugh.
“Oh shut it, Sully. We can’t all be as alcoholically inclined as others,” Whit responds with a playful roll of her eyes.
“Couldn’t tell you the last time I did a tequila shot, if I’m honest. It burns more than I remember, though,” I say, clearing my throat with a small cough.
“Don’t worry, G. It ain’t half as bad the second time ‘round.” Kenny slaps a hand on my shoulder, grinning wickedly. “Pour us up another round, would you, Sully?” Her tone is sweet as honey, like the way she bats her eyelids.
“Comin’ right up, Miss Taylor.”
I don’t miss the way the color in Sully’s cheeks deepens a few shades when Kenny speaks to him. I pocket that little piece of information for later.
Two shots deep, the beginning of a buzz warms me from the inside out. Not that it’s needed; the radiating body heat is already warm enough.