Chapter 23
Why does every romance story end the same?
Do the authors have some fucked up convention where they all sit down at a round table and collectively agree that each story should end with two seemingly strangers who ride off happily ever after into the sunset, or do I just have the worst taste in books?
Where’s the mess? Better yet, where’s the connection?
Tossing my book on the floor beside me, I stare up at the ceiling before shifting my body toward my bookshelf.
My eyes graze the shelves lined with all the books I keep as trophies.
The stories that I loved enough to take up space, instead of donating immediately after I finished them.
As always, my eyes linger on the book I found at Molly Mae’s and my thoughts drift to the photo inside.
Now, that’s the couple I want to read about.
The look in their eyes told a story all its own.
I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way the man in that photo did.
They were in such a beautiful place, and yet he looked toward Grace like she’s perfect.
I find it hard to believe Rhett looks at me this way, well, according to Ginny.
Especially since my first few interactions with him were far from pleasant.
I wonder if their love was easy or if it ended prior to it ever really beginning? If Grace was just infatuated with Walter, or if there was more to their story?
Closing my eyes, I try to imagine what their love looked like, but the sound of my phone pulls me away from my daydream and back to reality.
Rhett? Why is he calling? And why am I so nervous?
“Hello?” My voice is muddled with uncertainty.
“Are ya busy?” he questions, his voice as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey.
No. Not that I plan to share that with him. I force an indifferent sigh. “A little, why?”
I can practically hear his smile through the phone as he replies, “We can either pretend I believe that, or you can be ready to be picked up in ten minutes.”
I look down at my pajamas, contemplating whether or not ten minutes is enough time for me to not look like I just rolled out of a dumpster.
“What’ll it be, Angel? I don’t got unlimited minutes and I ain’t tryin’ to use them all in one phone call,” he chuckles.
“Please, don’t be too charming.” I roll my eyes as if he can see my irritation. Looking toward my closet, I consider his offer a second longer. “Give me fifteen minutes and tell me our destination.”
“Dress up, dress down. Doesn’t matter. No cowboy shit today, I promise. See ya soon.” He hangs up the phone before I respond.
Well, at least it’s not a rodeo then. I release a relieved breath while I move toward my closet, thankful that he unknowingly helped me avoid the one place I’d rather not be, no matter how bored I am.
I grab my CD case, flipping through the pages of burned CDs within it. I pull out the one labeled Summer Mix and stick it into my stereo. The Killers come streaming through my speakers as Mr. Brightside starts to play.
Rushing toward my bathroom, I jump in the shower, washing my body as fast as I can before reaching for my towel.
I brush my teeth and hair just as fast, before smothering nearly every inch of myself in a vanilla brown sugar lotion.
Looking at the clock, I have seven minutes left, that is if he actually shows up exactly when he said he would.
I land on a smokey eye because I know that if the power went out, I could still do it perfectly.
I switch my nose ring out from a hoop, too a stud, then run a straightener over my hair before dousing my body in a matching body spray.
Entering my closet, I try on a low-rise camo mini-skirt and halter top.
Cute? Yes. Practical? No. At least, not when I have no idea where we are going.
I pass over outfit after outfit, turning down nearly half my wardrobe before circling back to my shorts.
I grab a pair with rhinestone stars on the back pockets, then a hot pink crop t-shirt and pink flip-flops to match.
Shutting my CD player offer, I step back and take myself in. Hot, obviously. I laugh softly as I look in the mirror checking my outfit from every angle.
I glance at the clock and my fifteen minutes are up. Damn I’m good.
I wonder if Rhett is perfectly punctual, just like he’s perfect at everything else. I grab some frosty pink lipgloss and toss it in my bag before racing down my stairs. Skipping every other step until I make it to the living room and swing open my front door, where I find him planted on the steps.
“Damn,” he says, rising from his spot. His stare is blatant, scalding in its intensity, and I find that I don’t mind it one bit. In fact, it’s actually kind of alluring.
“What?” I flash him a smug grin. “Place a bet that I would take longer than we agreed upon?”
“No, but I would’ve waited all damn day knowin’ this would be the result.” Underneath the confidence of his statement, there’s a sense of reverence. Like he can’t quite believe I’m real. Ginny’s comment resurfaces. Right now, looking down on him from the steps, I feel like an angel.
“Lucky for you, you don’t have to.” My eyes chase the outline of his full lips, and by the self assured smile he wears, he knows I’m taking him in.
I brush past him, breaking our heated eye contact.
My guard shoots back up. I’m still not sure of him and this isn’t a date.
I remove the smile from my lips. “Where to, Casanova?”
“The Fair.”
“Step right up and try your luck at the races,” bellows a tall, skinny man who sports a goatee and a bright red shirt.
“You, too, could be the next Champion derby rider. All you have to do is take a seat and have five bucks to your name. Do I have any takers?” he yells into the sea of patrons walking through the festival games.
A few men take a seat as they bet between themselves on who will get first, and I make the mistake of looking the worker’s way.
“Come on, don’t you want to win this lovely lady a prize?
” He leans over his stand, doing his best to grab Rhett’s attention.
Rhett eyes us both, mulling over joining the game.
The man sees his hesitation and continues his spiel.
“Take a seat, the game is simple. Once we have a fair group of contestants, the race is off. You just have to point your gun at the target and hope your aim can outmatch the water’s power.
That, and the other contestants’ ability to do the same.
” He wiggles his brow. “If you’re the victor, you can pick any item from this entire wall.
” Leaning back, he points to the massive stuffed animals above him, then glides his hands under a row of Happy Bunny photos with ridiculous sayings, and half-naked or completely naked Playboy posters.
“Eighteen and up for these, of course.” He gives a cheeky grin, pretending to peel back the masking tape that barely covers what’s beneath it. “How does that sound, sir?”
“Too easy,” Rhett counters, forcing a laugh from the man. I wonder if he knows which seats are rigged and who will win long before the game even starts.
“Pick a seat, sir. You sound ready to take the title.” His smile seems genuine, but I’m not so sure it’s because of the interaction or more so that he’s filling every spot with ease.
“How about this striking woman you brought with you? Do you have a taste for the title as well? Maybe a little lovers’ quarrel on who the true champion is? ”
Rhett looks back at me, playful curiosity looming in his eyes. “Yeah, what’ll it be, Angel?” His smirk deepens, happiness all but glowing from him.
I smile back before taking a seat at his side. “Game on,” I whisper.
I look down the aisle at our competition and find many other men who got suckered into ‘winning a prize for their lady’. The carnival worker taps the tips of his fingers together, tossing a top hat on his head, as if his position switched from Recruiter to Ringmaster.
“You better settle in, because you are about to have the rides of your lives.” He chuckles at his own pun.
“This here ride is going to be a bit different than normal, ladies and gents.” He collectively grabs all of our attention then forces his pointer finger toward me.
“There was a hole in heaven that dropped this beautiful angel, among your competition.
" A few men glance my way, forcing a blush to my cheeks as I shoot Rhett an embarrassed glare.
Turning toward me, he shrugs. He knows he’s at fault for this stupid little nickname that has now boiled over onto complete strangers. His confidence is palpable as he turns toward the worker. “Better watch out with this one, bud.”
“For what? Angels have wings, not fangs,” the man answers back with a devious grin.
Rhett laughs. “She ain’t no regular angel, she’s an outlaw.”
Laughter erupts from those close enough to hear our conversation, but none are louder than the man running the show.
But I don’t laugh, in fact, I can’t help the little trickle of pride that blooms in my chest at Rhett’s words.
Not just for the compliment, but also because he truly sees me as competition. His equal.
“See you all at the finish line, boys.” I smile at the tender. “Ready when you are.”
“You heard the lady. One… Two… Three… Go!”
A bell sounds and water starts to spray from the gun placed in front of me. I aim it dead center on my target and watch as the number two horse, my horse, takes off from its starting line. Rhett’s horse and mine are neck and neck, and the closer we get to the end the more competitive I get.
“What’s the winner gonna get besides one of those Playboy posters up there?” He pokes fun at me like he has it in the bag.
“She’s going to get a massive five-dollar lemonade and a funnel cake on you.” I lean forward, making sure not to allow anything to break my focus.
“Never had carnival food eaten off me, but I’m willin’ to try anythin’ at least once.” Rhett’s chuckle is a low, smoldering rumble that any other time I might take time to appreciate, but right now I’m determined to kick his ass. Not even his chiseled abs or cock could distract me now.
“I’m willing to bet everything tastes sweeter without clothes.” I flirt a little harder. Partly because I want to win, and partly because I like the possibility of taking things a bit farther with him. “Maybe a little recap from the shop too.”
An audible hum passes his lips. He’s clearly intrigued by the last portion of my comment as he turns to look at me. He watches me a second too long when a bell rings and the targets all shift either left or right depending on the seat.
“Fuck, left out that little surprise now, didn’t he?” Rhett tries to regain the center of his target, while my horse starts to take the lead. My cheeks begin to hurt from how hard I’m smiling as I inch closer to the finish line.
“From easy, to falling behind, over here in chair one, ladies and gents.” The worker taunts Rhett, and it’s fun to see him get a dose of his own medicine, because he takes it just as lightheartedly as when he gives it.
Laughter spills from his chest and envelopes the space around me with such an air of happiness it feels contagious.
“Eat my dust, Casanova.”
“Not the only thing I plan to eat,” he chuckles. “I like your wager. So much so, I’m willin’ to take the loss with pride.”
My eyes remain forward. There is no way I’m going to lose this now. “Don’t you dare try and pretend you’re letting me win.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice comes out smooth and focused, and though his words are simple, something about them makes me want to quit the game immediately and pretend the world around us isn’t here to judge what I’d like to do to him.
With another ring of the bells, the targets shift, and the worker laughs while singling out the players whose horses rapidly fall behind. The targets begin to shift rapidly, this time without any warning at all. Angry whispers run down the line of men as my horse separates from the herd.
Frustration crashes over the players, irritated grunts and moans rising from their chests as they try to sight in their aim, but fail.
And by the time the targets settle back into a single place, my horse is multiple lengths ahead of everyone else.
It arrives at the finish line, and many of the contestants seated there take their defeat well, while one complains about the worker giving me the seat with an advantage.
“There’s always one sore loser in the crowd.
” The worker shakes his head, irritated by the man’s outburst, before walking toward us.
“Something told me that both of you would be battling for first.” He leans forward onto his counter.
“Time to pick a prize, Grand Champion Derby Racer. What’ll it be, Miss Outlaw? ”
“I’ll go wait in line for that Lemonade,” Rhett says as he leans in and kisses my cheek. And I nearly forget that I told myself this was nothing more than a casual fling, this isn’t a date, and he isn’t my boyfriend. But something about it is nice, so I smile.
I scan over the prizes hanging around the game, each item connected to an identifying number.
“Is it possible to put it in a bag so he can’t see it?”
His lips curve upward. “Anything for you, dear.”
“I’ll choose two hundred twenty two, please.” I can’t wait to hide this in his truck, finding it will be just as comical for me as it is him.
“What a choice,” he says, snagging my prize before shoving it into a dark green bag.
“Just between you and I…did you really give me the best seat?” I question, reaching up to grab the bag.
“Well, that’s a trade secret.” He chuckles. “But between you and I, your date was a bit too focused on you, or you would have had some competition, I think.”
I don’t know why I’m so caught off by the concept, but old habits die hard. Without thinking, I reply, “It’s not a date.”
But do I want it to be? I mean, would it really be so bad if it was? He’s funny, kind, hot as hell, even if he is a tad bit, okay a lot, cocky. Honestly that’s one of the things I like most about him, the man knows what he wants and he pursues it.
The thought of letting this become serious is equally as exhilarating as it is terrifying, so I force it from my mind. Just have a little fun, why does there have to be a label?
Surprise rises along with his eyebrows. “Ah, well you better tell him that.”