Chapter 17 #2
He clears his throat and points at another near his elbow, this one of a tumbleweed. “This is for Albuquerque, New Mexico.”
“What did you do there?”
“Worked in a diner.”
“Don’t tell me you cooked,” I tease, remembering the time he tried to make me egg salad sandwiches for a picnic. If you’re wondering if it’s possible to burn hard-boiled eggs, the answer is yes. Yes, you can.
“Not there,” he answers, “but I have.”
“No way.”
“Way. I’ve worked as a line cook and a short-order cook.” He points at what I’m guessing is a restaurant logo on his inner forearm.
I shoot him a skeptical look.
“I’m actually a great cook.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” I murmur jokingly … but Riley’s eyes flare in excitement at the opening I’ve just stupidly given him.
“Challenge accepted. I’d love to cook for you.”
Shit.
“Oh, uh … that— that won’t be necessary,” I scramble to backpedal. He watches me intently as I continue to stutter out a reply. “I believe you. It’s really not— it’s not—” An audible swallow. A nervous hair tuck behind my ear. “No, thank you,” I finally manage lamely.
His face softens at my obvious distress.
“Alright. I won’t push, but … think about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Never gonna happen. It can’t. And I need to stop sending him mixed messages. Friendly is okay, I tell myself. Not flirty.
Friendly, not flirty.
Friendly, not flirty.
I repeat the new mantra over and over in my head.
“What about that one?” I ask in an effort to change the subject, choosing another design high up on his bicep. It’s partly obscured by his sleeve, which has fallen back down a little, so he pushes it up again, giving me the perfect view of tightly bunched and bulging muscle …
Friendly, not flirty!
I force myself to focus on the tattoo. It’s a street sign protruding from the vines.
Ashbourne Lane. “This is the street I lived on when I was in Wyoming. It had a gorgeous view down the mountain to a small lake.” He shrugs.
“Kinda reminded me of the view from …” he trails off and makes a point of clearing his throat.
The ridge?
My eyes jump to his, and I catch a flash of something … maybe wistfulness? Riley rubs at his chest as though to soothe an ache.
He was definitely going to say the ridge.
My own chest constricts as I flash back to the last time we were there together, just days before he left for college.
It was the last time I remember being truly happy with him.
The last time I remember feeling that innocent type of contentment that only comes from youth and the naive certainty that everything was going to work out exactly as I’d planned.
My boys have brought me countless joys over the years, but I never did regain that feeling, the one of limitless possibilities.
Back then, I believed the future was wide open and ours for the taking.
Back then, I couldn’t have fathomed what would happen.
That we weren’t actually meant for forever.
An air of regret settles heavily between us. Riley looks as sad as I feel in this moment.
“I should …” he pulls back, indicating the other customer at the end of the bar, and I nod, watching as he goes to check on the man, pouring him another pint.
I continue to stare after him, working to shove the memory back down deep where it belongs, once again forcing my mind to return to those tattoos.
I’m curious about the vines and barbed wire—why some places are wrapped in the sharp, constricting metal, while others appear to be lovingly caressed by the lush greenery.
He played it off like there wasn’t any significance to them beyond the need to tie all the images and places together, but I suspect there’s more to it.
I suspect some of those places have more pleasant memories than others.
Riley reaches across the counter to accept the man’s credit card, and my eyes fall on what looks to be a series of numbers inked onto the inner crook of his elbow.
Curiosity washes over me once more. It’s a true testament to how intensely I’ve been studying him that I can even make it out from this distance, and as he passes the man back his card and turns in my direction, I thank my lucky stars I’ve managed to rein myself in before he catches me checking him out yet again.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out to see a text from Piper, the numbers on his arm at once forgotten.
Piper
Sorry, sorry, sorry! On the way now!
Checking the time, I’m amazed to see a half hour has passed while I’ve been busy chatting up my ex and admiring his ink.
I sigh, not even bothering with the self-flagellation.
Up until a few minutes ago, I’d actually been having a good time, and I’m not going to let myself think too much beyond that right now because … well, because it feels good.
Steph
Are you sure Lucy’s up for it? As I said before, it’s fine if she wants to reschedule
Piper
Nope. She insists she’s ready for hot wings with ranch sauce now that she’s got an empty stomach ;-)
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head at my phone. Leave it to Lucy to brighten my mood in an instant.
Steph
Okay, see you soon!
“Something funny?” I jump on my stool, surprised to find Riley has returned and is watching me with a huge grin on his face, his earlier melancholy all but vanished.
“It’s so nice to see your smile again,” he says, and I duck my head, my cheeks once again flaming and my ambivalence seriously waning.
Friendly. Not. Flirty.
Choosing to skip over that comment, I ask, with a nod towards his arm, “What … uh, other interesting things have you done?”
“Little bit of everything,” he answers vaguely with a shrug.
“Like?”
He shrugs again, then begins ticking jobs off on his fingers.
“Construction—both residential and road crew. Farming. That runs the spectrum from cattle ranching to harvesting grapes at a winery. You already know about the fishing … I even trained as a hotshot firefighter for a while. Those are the ones that fight fires deep in the woods,” he clarifies, before continuing.
“Beekeeper’s assistant, landscaper … oh, here’s a good one—alien museum tour guide. ”
“Oh my God, an … alien museum?” I stare at him for a long moment, waiting to see if he’s kidding.
When it’s clear he’s not, I let out a snort.
My eyes go wide, and I slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s no use.
I burst out laughing—cackling, really. I just …
can’t help it. “And … are you telling me you were actually a cowboy, too?” I manage to gasp out between breaths, giggles overtaking me yet again.
When he doesn’t answer, I look up to find him frozen in place.
The bar lights gild his dark hair, and his face—his face is awash in an emotion akin to awe.
I watch as his mouth slowly curves up until he’s full-on beaming, seemingly ecstatic over my fit of giggles.
He lets loose with a laugh of his own, his eyes bright and full of feeling.
“You think that’s funny?”
I nod, still chuckling lightly as he continues to stare at me.
It is funny, but truth be told, the image of Riley atop a horse is not an unpleasant one. It’s actually …
Ugh. Okay, fuck, it’s really hot.
I’ve seen Yellowstone after all. Plus, Piper went through a cowboy romance phase I miiiight have also indulged in, a little bit.
Suddenly, I’m no longer laughing. Neither is he.
This feels heartbreakingly familiar.
Riley’s smile fades, his eyes dropping to my mouth, and I can’t fight the urge to lick my lips.
He leans in, across the bar, and there goes my pulse ratcheting up again.
Hunger lines his features as his eyes drop even further to rake slowly over me.
I feel them trail down to my collarbone and then linger heatedly on my chest. He was always a fan of my breasts.
I fight not to squirm under his heavy gaze as the tension ratchets up. Heat blooms low in my belly while a shiver simultaneously runs down my spine.
Ohhh, boy.
I make a choked, whimpering sound, and his eyes snap back to mine, looking darker, greyer than I ever remember seeing them.
I bite my lip and groan.
He echoes it, the sound rumbling up from low in his chest.
And just like the last time we were together in this bar, everything else around us seems to fade away. We remain like that, locked in some kind of erotic stare down, until—
“Well, well, well … what do we have here?” an amused voice chirps. It succeeds in snapping me out of my lust-induced haze. My head swings around, the momentum nearly causing me to fall off my stool.
And that’s how Lucy and Piper find me.
We settle in one of the booths by the window, and a server comes by to take our orders. Lucy does indeed go for the spicy wings, along with fried pickles, potato wedges, and a virgin Bloody Mary.
“No judgment,” she warns, pointing a finger at each of us and the server pre-emptively. Piper raises her hands innocently, and I chuckle, rolling my eyes at the server, who looks mildly entertained.
“She’s eating for two,” I supply, to which the woman huffs a breath through her nose. Lucy bounces excitedly in her seat.
Piper orders a glass of wine, and I end up doing the same, thanking the server and passing her back our menus. When I return my attention to the table, I find both of my friends leaning forward, chins propped on their elbows, and watching me expectantly.
“What?”
“Oh, you know what,” Lucy says with a suggestive eyebrow raise and a less-than-casual head-tilt in Riley’s direction. Piper stays mum but offers a knowing smile.
I sigh. “You guys know we have history.”
“Yeah, but that’s all we know.”
“And it’s going to stay that way.”
Lucy opens her mouth, but I raise a hand to halt her protests.