Chapter Ten
Brandee
T here’s a vibrant energy in the air that I can’t quite identify—maybe it’s the sound of the bass guitar vibrating through the wooden dance floor or the mix of perfume, whiskey, and sweat.
I tug at the thin chain of my necklace and step into the pulsing warmth of the crowd with Erin and Jena, who are already swaying to the music.
“I’m too old for this,” I mutter under my breath.
“You’re thirty-seven. Not dead,” Erin quips, looping her arm through mine. “You just have to keep an open mind—that’s all.”
Perhaps. Or maybe the idea of engaging in awkward small talk over overpriced cocktails with some overly confident frat boy or being pawed on the dance floor repulses me.
Perhaps I simply want to enjoy one drink without being treated like a target for a man looking for an easy hookup.
Maybe I’m not as lonely as they think I am.
But I let them drag me forward to the front of the stage, passing tables full of giggly girls and flirtatious guys in backward ball caps.
The music kicks up. Cody Banks, the rising country star, is onstage.
He’s all Southern charm and raw talent, and the crowd’s practically worshipping at his boots.
He strums a chord and leans into the mic with a smile that I’m sure has made panties drop in honky-tonks across the US.
“Whiskey Joe’s,” he drawls. “Let’s get into some trouble tonight.”
The girls cheer like they’re all volunteering as tribute.
I don’t. I clap politely, my eyes scanning the crowd, then the bar.
My breath catches for a second—not because of Cody Banks, but because of him.
The bartender.
Tall, with dark hair pushed back in messy waves, sleeves rolled up over corded forearms. He pours a bourbon with one hand and laughs with a customer, oozing easy charm that doesn’t try too hard.
His jaw’s strong, and his eyes are beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that makes you stare too long.
There’s something … unbothered about him.
Confident and quiet. A calm amid the chaos.
I blink as those eyes meet mine.
Shit . I’m staring.
“Go flirt with Cody,” Erin whispers to me, eyes lit with mischief. “He’s already looked at you twice.”
“He’s looking at everyone and no one. It’s his job to engage with the crowd.”
“Yeah, but he looked at you with interest,” Jena teases, nudging me. “C’mon, Brandee. You’re hot, a walking thirst trap, and you don’t even try.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I’m just here for the drinks and the music.”
Erin fake gasps. “Lies. You need someone to knock the cobwebs off your—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I bite out as I scan to see if anyone is listening.
She grins, unrepentant, and waves over a guy who looks like an Abercrombie model and reeks of expensive cologne.
He’s exactly the type I’ve learned to avoid—too smooth, too sure of himself, too loud.
Jena’s chatting with his friend, who’s leaning in close, a beer in each hand and his eyes locked on her cleavage.
“Hi. Want to dance?” Mr. Abercrombie asks.
I take a step back. “Sorry, I’ve got to pee,” I reply.
I make a hasty escape toward the ladies’ room, where I hide in a stall while some drunk girls stand at the sinks, discussing their odds of being invited to Cody’s trailer tonight.
Once they leave, I quickly head back out.
Instead of joining my friends, I make my way to the bar.
Just one drink—that’s all I need. With one more drink, I’ll be able to smile, laugh, and pretend I didn’t hear the guy talking to Jena earlier, telling her that I reminded him of his “hot single aunt.”
The bar is busy, with customers standing three deep, waiting to place orders. I wait patiently for my turn when I spot an empty stool at the far end. I hurry down, hop onto the seat before anyone else can, and exhale like I’ve finally come up for air.
A few seconds later, he’s in front of me.
“Evenin’.” His voice is low, warm, and melts over me like honey on a biscuit. “What can I get you?”
I glance up. God, up close, he’s even more striking. Eyes like storm clouds, a scruffy five-o’clock-shadowed jaw, and just the hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his rolled sleeve.
“Pinot Noir,” I say, a little breathless. “If you got it.”
He arches a brow. “We do. But I’ll warn you, it’s not that good.”
I smile despite myself. “Honest bartender. I appreciate that.”
“I figure if a fine lady like yourself is drinking red wine at a place like this, you deserve to know what you’re getting.”
“You saying I don’t look like a shot and beer chaser kinda girl?”
“I’m saying you look like you’ve got taste.”
I raise a brow. “Or that I’m too mature to be hanging out with this crowd?” I quip.
He chuckles. “Don’t put words in my mouth. Besides, I have a niece who acts more mature than most of the knuckleheads in this place tonight. So, pinot, right?”
I shake my head. “Make it a vodka martini,” I decide. “Dirty. Grey Goose.”
“Good choice.” He disappears momentarily and returns with a chilled glass and cocktail shaker. He sets the glass on a napkin in front of me, pours the drink, and then tops it with a toothpick loaded with olives.
I take a sip. His eyes stay on mine just a beat longer than necessary. I set the glass down and try not to fidget.
“I’m Brandee,” I offer.
He leans a hip against the bar. “Nice to meet you, Brandee.”
“You always work the bar on Fridays?” I ask.
He shrugs and starts to answer when a voice booms from across the bar. “Hey, lover boy. You gonna stand there and yap all night, or can a man get a beer?”
“Coming right up, George,” he yells over his shoulder. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
He fills a glass from one of the taps, hands it to the old man, and returns.
“Regular?” I ask.
He quirks a brow. “How’d you know?”
“You didn’t ask his order.”
He grins. “I pay attention to good customers and gorgeous women who try to hide at the bar.”
My stomach does a small, traitorous flip.
“Oh, I’m not hiding,” I lie.
“No?”
I twirl the olive pick in my glass, eyes on his. “Okay, maybe a little. My friends think I need to be … rescued from my singleness.”
He leans in, voice lower. “Do you want to be rescued?”
I look back at him. That smile. Those eyes. The way he’s not leaning too close or trying too hard. He’s just there.
“Depends on the night and the knight, I suppose,” I say, surprising even myself.
He chuckles, slow and real. “I’m more of a rogue than a knight.”
“Hmm. Those can be more fun.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but a guy two stools down waves a twenty and calls for tequila.
He tosses me a wink and heads down the bar.
I watch him go, heart racing like a lovestruck teenager.
He moves with ease as he pours drinks and playfully flirts with a group of older ladies, making them laugh.
My glass is empty when he returns. He doesn’t say anything; he just leans on the bar and watches me.
“What?” I finally ask.
He shrugs. “I’m just wondering why your friends are concerned. You look like the kind of woman who’s used to being pursued.”
I raise a brow. “Used to being hit on, maybe. It’s not the same thing.”
“True.” He nods. “And you’re not buying what they’re selling out there, are you?” he asks, gesturing toward the crowded dance floor.
I shrug. “Not really. I’d rather have a conversation than a pick-up line.”
He nods, thoughtfully. “What do you want to talk about?”
I smile, tilting my head. “Music. Books. Life’s great mysteries like why aren’t we allowed to wear white after Labor Day?”
He whistles softly. “Heavy stuff for a Friday night.”
“You asked,” I say, biting my lip to hide a grin.
“That I did.”
“Hiya, handsome,” Erin coos over my shoulder, startling me.
“Hi yourself. What can I get you?” he asks.
“What’s your name and number?” she asks.
He licks his lips as his eyes fall to her ring finger and then flit back to hers.
She waves off his playful judgment. “I’m not trying to pick you up. I’m just gathering information in case I need to rescue my friend here,” she says, gesturing to me.
His eyes slide to me, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a sexy grin. “Rescue her from what exactly?”
“Evading the question, hmm.”
“Name’s Brew,” he says as he sets a shot glass in front of her and pours a shot of tequila. “Yours?”
She looks at the shot and back at him. “A bribe. Really?” she asks, shaking her head as she grabs the glass and looks at me. “I’m Bambi?”
I shake my head.
“Um, I mean, Erin.”
“Which is it?” he asks, resting his elbows on the bar.
“Erin. And I don’t know, Brandee; he looks like a bad decision to me,” she says as she throws back the shot.
“And why’s that?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his.
“For one thing, his name is Brew, and he works behind a bar. Suspect for sure. He’s too good-looking.
Plus, he serves hot women drinks every night.
Which means he’s probably got a bedpost full of notches.
Odds are, at least a few of them were crazy,” she says, looking over her shoulder.
“I bet there’s one in here right now, wanting to scratch your eyes out for just talking to him.
” She turns back and narrows her eyes at him. “All red flags.”
I laugh. “Aren’t you the one who told me to find the sexiest man in the club and take him home tonight, no questions asked?”
He quirks an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, right. I did. Sorry. I turned into Maxi there for a minute,” she cries as she slaps the bar. “Carry on.”
She winks at him and then sashays back to Jena.
“So, no questions asked, huh?”
I slide my glass to him. “Maybe a couple. Can I get another martini? And a ride home?”