Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Audrey
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter.
My Jeep beeps behind me as I lock the door and place one foot in front of the other toward Patsy’s. I can’t help but second-guess my wardrobe decision as I pull my pink cardigan closed, warding off the brisk night air.
I’m trying to walk on the wild side, and I wear a cardigan? I’m hopeless.
Music floats across the broken sidewalk as I approach the door. It’s nineties country, which I know and love, and that helps. There’s no security, which seems to jive with the half-lit beer advertisement glowing in the window.
“This is great. It’s a casual kind of place,” I say, trying to ward off a bout of nervous energy threatening to spiral down my spine. “And it’s another bout of spontaneity. That’s a win.”
My feet falter just before I reach the entrance, succumbing to the pleas from my brain to save myself from the unknown and return to the cabin.
I turn instinctively toward the Jeep, my body acting on impulse.
A voice echoes in my head with prepared excuses—did I leave the straightener plugged in?
Shouldn’t I run back to the cabin and make sure I locked the door?
You don’t belong here.
Leaning into the fear is what I’ve always done. It tempts me with practicality. It dangles promises of trying again another day. It’s reasonable and safe … and exactly what I always do.
Until now.
“It’s going to be great,” I whisper. “Just walk inside and order a drink.”
My hand grips the cold metal handle, lugging it toward me. The music grows louder, mixed with laughter and revelry, and the tangy scent of old beer, cheap citrus cleaner, and overused cooking oil.
A few heads turn from the bar as I walk inside the dimly lit establishment.
The man at the end nods, nearly falling off the barstool in the process.
The man beside him barely acknowledges me before turning back to the basketball game playing on a television in the corner.
But the woman beside him, probably my age, with a kind face and a pretty turquoise camisole, smiles.
Mine is shakier than hers, but I return it.
“Excuse us,” someone says behind me. I jump, stepping aside to let a couple enter the bar. The man who nearly fell off his stool lifts his brows, and I realize I’m only attracting more attention by standing in the entrance like a bump on a log.
With my license and credit card tucked safely in my pocket, I meander through the bodies clogging the only thoroughfare through the building.
I’m not sure where to go or why I thought this was a good idea, but I’m here and committed …
for at least ten minutes. I can do almost anything for ten minutes.
A woman hops off her stool, leaving an open spot at the bar. I slide up to it before I lose my courage and wait for the bartender to spot me. Her smile is bright, and her eyes shine as she barks at someone to wait their turn and comes to me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, leaning against the bar top. “You doing okay?”
“Is it that obvious?”
She laughs. “What can I get for you?”
Gianna always orders sangria, but that seems out of place for Patsy’s. The only other thing that comes to mind is Astrid saying that beer is the drink of Sugar Creek and Gianna giving her crap about it.
“Can I get a beer?” I ask.
Her head tilts to the side. “Have you done this before?”
“I mean, kind of.” I wince. “No, not really.”
She smiles, nodding. “Not a problem. I’m Terri, and I’ll take care of you. Wait right here.”
Thank God. My breath wobbles, and I ignore the thin layer of sweat coating the back of my neck and palms. Terri returns, handing me a brown bottle with a white label.
“How much?” I ask, reaching for my card.
“That one’s on the house.” She winks at me. “If you need anything at all tonight, find me. And try to have some fun.” Her attention lifts above my head before she begins to chuckle. “But I think you already have that taken care of.”
Huh?
My brows pull together in confusion, but before I can ask a question, she’s already helping someone else. I bite my lip, ready to turn around and find a corner to hide in for the next eight minutes, when two large hands hit the bar, caging me in from behind.
I suck in a breath, stiffening as chills race across my skin, and try to catch Terri’s attention. Surely, someone in here will help me. But before my panic can turn into a full-out attack, a pair of lips hover over the shell of my ear.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” a very familiar voice whispers, his breath hot against my skin.
I shiver—maybe from relief, and maybe from needing relief.
I don’t know if it’s because we’re on neutral ground or because the last time we were together, he read that I want a one-night stand, but either way, the air between us sizzles with tension, perfumed by the peppery notes of his cologne, and my body vibrates along with it.
“These assholes are gonna eat you alive,” he says, chuckling. “Or maybe that’s what you’re after.”
“Maybe,” I say after a long pause that only serves to thicken the space between us.
“Found any viable candidates?”
I grin. “Not yet, but I just got here.”
He leans closer, his front brushing against my back, and sweeps the hair off the back of my neck. “Not exactly the answer I was hoping to hear.”
What was he hoping to hear? The man to my right moves, his elbow meeting my shoulder, and knocks me to the side.
“Watch it,” Brooks says. The man glances over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Brooks. “Act like you have some fucking manners, Josh.”
Josh’s gaze drifts to mine. “My apologies.”
“It’s all right,” I say, glued to the spot. This isn’t how I thought this would go, and I can’t decide if it’s better or worse than I hoped.
Before I can get a grip on the situation, Brooks slides his left hand up my forearm and to my elbow. “Follow me, Doc.”
By the time I turn around, he’s already a step ahead of me.
With my bottle clenched in my fingers and an ache of anticipation humming under my skin, I wind my way through the crowd just behind him.
Each brush of my cardigan against my chest and the dusting of hair across the back of my neck is more sensitive than the one before it.
The butterflies in my stomach have turned into hummingbirds, growing and fluttering wildly.
I’m standing on a precarious edge of fear and exhilaration, and I’ve never felt more vulnerable … or alive.
Brooks stops at a table in the corner. The angles of his face deepen under the low light above us. He searches my eyes, but it feels more like a disrobing. It’s as if we’re the only two people in the room, and he’s about to strip me to my bare bones.
The restlessness in my chest grows stronger, and the anticipation of what’s to come overtakes me. I tip the bottle back and take a long gulp of beer. It’s … awful.
I choke, covering my mouth as I gag. My eyes water from the putrid taste of the alcohol.
Brooks chuckles. “You okay?”
I gag again. “I haven’t drunk urine before, but I think it’d be similar.” A full-body shiver ripples through me. “How do people drink that?”
“It’s an acquired taste.” He nods toward the table. “But you also started strong. Why in the world did you pick this one?”
“I didn’t. Terri gave it to me.”
He shakes his head with amusement.
I take a moment to appreciate how the color of his shirt makes his green eyes pop. And the longer I look at him and the deeper into his eyes I fall, the more my shoulders sag.
The crowd roars in delight as a popular song plays through the speakers, and then nearly every person in the building flocks to the makeshift dance floor. I wonder for a split second whether Brooks will go, too, but his attention is locked on me. He isn’t going anywhere.
“You look pretty tonight,” he says, licking his lips.
My cheeks flush. “Thank you.”
“What made you want to venture out to Patsy’s?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Bored, I guess.”
He hums as if he’s playing along.
“How’s your arm?” I ask.
He extends it across the table, relaxing his palm to the ceiling. The sides of his fingers brush my wrists, and I fight not to react to his touch. Then he pulls up his shirtsleeve and tugs gently at a bandage loosely wrapped around the wound.
“That’s surprisingly not too bad,” I say, peering at the slice. It’s a little swollen and definitely red, but it’s not seeping, and it doesn’t look hot to the touch—both good signs, I think. “You must’ve had a great surgeon.”
“She’s made me wait until I nearly bled to death and tried her hardest to get me to see another doctor, but getting to share a small room with her for twenty minutes made it worth it.”
Oh. Astrid’s words stream through my mind. “And there’s no doubt he’d be up for it, if you get what I’m saying.”
My heartbeat races so quickly that I’m pretty sure it tripped over itself. I’m so bad at this; I can’t form words. There’s too much chaos in my brain to form a coherent thought, let alone a flirty one.
This is what I’m here for—well, this is the precursor for it, anyway. And I don’t know how to do it. I’ve watched Gianna reel men in a million times in our lives, and now that it’s me with the hot guy in front of me, who I think is waiting for me to make a move, I’m frozen. This is horrible.
“I want to apologize to you,” Brooks says, running a hand through his hair. “If I made you uncomfortable about your whimsy list, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention, and it’s bugged me since I left that I might’ve made you feel some sort of way about it.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” I say. “It was kind of a relief, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying another sip of my beer. So gross. “You gave me a lot to think about.”
He lifts a brow, amused. “I love that you find me so intellectually stimulating.”