Chapter 2
TWO
it has my mind—and my dick—reeling
Arthur
With her hand still in mine and a bright smile on her face, she stands. “Wanna dance with me?” Her question takes me entirely by surprise.
I don’t move, but then it registers that there’s a slow country song is playing. Beau usually puts shit like this on when it’s dead in here, so I recognize it almost immediately.
Alice’s grin slips when I take too long to respond, and as she starts to retrieve her hand, I squeeze a little tighter.
I’m on my feet before I let go, flexing my fingers as if that will get rid of the tingling sensation.
I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me, but apparently, I’m going to dance with her, so I nod and we make our way slowly to the dimly lit dance floor.
We get into position silently, her hands resting on my shoulders before wrapping gently around my neck as mine settle low on her back.
We start out like two awkward teenagers at a middle school dance—bodies a little stiff and averting our eyes to look at everything but each other.
But as the seconds tick by, we relax, and as her sweet scent fills my lungs, I close my eyes just long enough to take the deepest breath, as if it may be my last. When I let it out, her feet shift closer, or maybe it’s mine that move first. I can’t be bothered to care that we’re cheek to cheek, shifting so slowly in the nearly empty room that I’m not even sure this counts as dancing.
When my hands shift along her back, my fingers graze the space between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans, and she melts a little deeper into me.
She’s so soft, and the sweet humming noise she makes when I draw little circles on her skin has my mind—and my dick—reeling.
I’ve never danced with anyone at Beau’s Bar.
I’ve never wanted to. Maybe it was the way her shoulders were slumped when her friend left, or the way her dimple popped when she smiled, or how hopeful she sounded at the simple prospect of a new book to read.
Let’s go with that. Let’s go with the fact that whatever her troubles are, she’s here because she needs a pick-me-up, and if I can help to give her that, then I will.
Vó always says we’re born with two hands for a reason: one to give and one to receive.
The song ends, and there are a couple of seconds of silence before the next one starts up.
I say a silent prayer for another ballad.
Something that will keep us here. But nope.
Fucking “Chattahoochee” starts to play, and Alice’s forehead comes to rest on my shoulder as her body shakes with laughter.
She steps back, taking all the warmth in the room with her when she turns to walk back to our stools.
As much as I dislike that we’ve lost our physical connection, I’m not mad about the view.
The way her jeans hug her hips and ass is sinful, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it.
We take our seats, her body still turned toward mine when she says, “Thank you for the dance.” Her focus drops to the two shots still on the bar.
“Well, I guess I should drink these, huh? I thought they might improve my day, but sitting here with you has already taken care of that.” Her cheeks turn a shade of pink I’d definitely like to see again, but she pushes through her embarrassment and meets my eyes.
“I suppose they can’t make the day worse, though, right?
” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Would you like to join me?” Her bright eyes widen as she waits for my answer.
After a long silence, I glance at the shot glass that’s been pushed closer to me while my body remains perfectly still. I smell the alcohol, but I’m not tempted by it. I never am.
“I’m good,” I respond, not chancing a look at her face again.
Like Beau, I don’t have a problem being near alcohol, but I won’t drink it.
We also choose not to surround ourselves with people who drink excessively, who lose control.
He’s always had strict rules about how much he serves his patrons, and if they don’t like it, they can leave.
It confused me at first, a Narcotics Anonymous sponsor who owned a bar, but it makes sense now. Beau likes to take care of people, and he feels he can do that by ensuring everyone is safe in his bar.
Alice shrugs, seemingly unaffected by my refusal.
“More for me, then.” She clinks her glass with the one on the bar and takes the shot.
The empty glass has barely touched the shiny wood before she’s downed the second shot glass and thrown its contents back, too, without so much as a wince.
She might as well be taking shots of apple juice, not tequila.
Something awfully close to disappointment twists in my gut as I look at the empty glasses. It doesn’t normally bother me to see people drinking, though I suppose I was hoping for a completely sober interaction tonight. Especially after that dance.
“Hey, Jo, can I get a glass of water, please?” I’d get it myself, but Beau hates it when I go behind the bar, and I don’t feel like getting a lecture from him today when I’m actually enjoying a conversation with someone other than him or his wife.
“Thank you,” she whispers to Josie when the glass of water is placed in front of her.
Alice looks at me while she takes several sips of water, and as she sets the glass down, those golden eyes hold mine.
Time comes to a standstill as we sit and stare at each other, until movement catches my eye, and I look down to where she’s pulled her full lower lip into her mouth.
Before I can form any other thoughts or make an excuse to leave, she releases her lip.
“All right.” She clears her throat. “Two truths and a lie. Go. And try not to put me to sleep this time with your fun facts, ’kay?
” That cute dimple taunts me again, and I wonder how exactly this happened.
We’ve only just met, and she already knows more about me than most people I have conversations with.
I’m about to share more, and I don’t mind one bit. Not with her.
I scratch my jaw, thinking about what on Earth could be interesting enough to share.
She watches my every move, and it’s hard to think with her eyes on me.
“Um, well, let’s see. I lost my virginity when I was fourteen—she was seventeen.
I’m dangerously allergic to mushrooms. I’ve jumped out of an airplane twelve times.
” It’s the best I can do under pressure.
She squints while she thinks over my answers.
“I could totally see you being a heartbreaker, even at fourteen, so I believe that.” Josie snorts from somewhere close-by, not even pretending not to listen anymore.
“But there’s no way you’ve done anything as wild as jumping out of an airplane, let alone twelve times.
Not Mr. Snuggles-up-with-his-dog-and-a-book. ”
The smile that takes over my face is triumphant. She’s so confident, yet she got it wrong. “My brother is allergic to mushrooms,” I state as she gasps and mutters something under her breath that sounds like son of a biscuit, and I chuckle. “Your turn.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “I’m terrified of spiders, but I work with twelve-hundred-pound animals all day.
I have five siblings. I’ve never been to a bar before tonight.
” After clasping her hands together on her lap, she waits for me to study her the way she did me, but I don’t have to.
She gives herself away with her facial expressions.
It’s like she’s incapable of telling a lie.
“You don’t have any siblings, do you?” Her face falls immediately, and I know I have her pegged.
She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and sets her hand on the bar, looking at the floor with the saddest expression.
“Hey,” I say gently, reaching for her fingers.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” We’re barely touching, but every nerve ending in my body is aware of the small connection.
Every inch of my skin feels suddenly charged, like her touch is awakening some hibernating part of me.
She doesn’t pull away, and neither do I.
“It’s okay,” she replies. “I just didn’t think it would be so obvious that I’m an only child.” Her small smile is forced this time, and my favorite dimple stays hidden.
“It’s not that,” I start to explain. “You just have a really expressive face. There was no emotion when you told me the lie.” She meets my gaze again, curiosity painted beautifully on her bronze skin.
“But you lit up when you mentioned your work, like it makes you happy, and there was a tiny shrug when you said you’ve never been to a bar, like that fact doesn’t bother you one bit. ”
It happens again. We sit, eyes locked, fingertips touching, and this bar could be packed full of people and I wouldn’t know it.
There’s only her. Though I know this won’t go any further tonight because I’m not here for a hook-up, and—more importantly—because the way she’s throwing back shots tells me it absolutely can’t, I let myself continue to touch her anyway. Just for now.
After taking a shaky breath, she pulls away, and I sip my coffee as Alice fans herself and reaches back to where I hadn’t noticed a small purse was hanging on the back of the stool.
She pulls out a clip and twists her hair up effortlessly.
Her cheeks are no longer rosy, but now a deep shade of crimson, and I wonder if it’s the alcohol or if I’ve made her uncomfortable.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She shoots out of her stool and heads toward the restrooms, practically breaking into a jog.
Gulping down my coffee, I try to shake off whatever this feeling is.
She’s beautiful, yes, but the short conversation we’ve had has been far more enjoyable than any interaction I’ve had with a woman in a very long time.
There’s been none of my usual transactional flirting—the kind where I know the witty comments and playful touches will lead somewhere.
That somewhere starts with a touch here, a wink there, and we both get what we’re after, then leave without ever expecting to see one another again.
But this isn’t that. Sure, she might be flirting, but it feels like more. It feels like she’s sharing herself with me in the same unexpected way that I’m sharing myself with her.
Other than telling me that my presence has helped her take her mind off her shitty day, she’s given me no impression that she’s interested in me, but I feel it the same way I feel my fingertips drumming on the bar top.
Several minutes pass as I replay the last hour.
For a moment, I wonder if she has left, but then worry hits me that maybe something is wrong.
If there’s one thing my grandmother always drilled into me, it was to always listen to my gut.
Vó is one of the wisest, feistiest women I’ve ever met.
I probably like Josie so much because in the next few decades, she’ll be just like Vó.
I look around for my friend, wondering if she can go check on Alice, but she’s not around, and Beau has his nose in a calculator I won’t dare pull him away from.
I learned my lesson after the first mistake, and I don’t want to do his inventory ever again.
Fuck it.
I head for the small hallway at the back of the bar. After knocking lightly on the closed bathroom door, I wait a few seconds for a response, but I don’t get one. Then I hear it. The telltale wretch of someone being sick.
For reasons I might never be able to explain, I try to open the door, expecting to find it locked. It opens instantly, and there she is, on her knees, face in the toilet bowl. There’s a bottle of disinfectant and a wad of paper towels next to her, which is odd, but I don’t have time to question it.
She hasn’t heard me come in, so I kneel next to her, placing my hand on her back.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be all right,” I soothe.
She must have had more to drink tonight if those two shots did her in like that, but she didn’t look drunk at all.
I know appearances don’t mean anything, though.
It’s amazing how good people can get at hiding just how fucked up they are. I would know.
She flushes the toilet and reaches for the roll of paper towel on the floor.
I grab it for her, ripping a piece and handing it over.
She doesn’t say anything as she wipes at her teary cheeks and mouth.
I give her a moment, heading to the sink to run some more paper towels under cold water, wringing them out carefully, then kneeling behind her, placing the cool paper on the back of her neck.
She sighs and relaxes, sitting on her feet.
Taking deep breaths, she closes her eyes then whispers, “Oh no,” before leaning forward again to heave into the toilet. I rub her back as she successfully empties her stomach. Again and again, her body convulses as she sobs, and I feel completely helpless.
When she finally stops, slumping on the floor, I pull her back to lean on me, and she rests her head on my shoulder, her face turned away.
“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles through soft sobs, and I wonder if she has someone, anyone, who can help her.
I’ve been at rock bottom, so I know what it looks like.
If I had to guess, she’s either there now or close to it.
Eventually, Josie appears at the door. “Oh shit.” Her eyes widen as she takes in the nearly passed-out woman and me on the bathroom floor.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “She’s conscious, but barely. I’m not sure what to do.” Especially since I don’t think she has a place to stay.
“Bring her upstairs. I’ll take care of her tonight and see what she needs in the morning. Won’t be the first time, and certainly not the last that someone drinks too much and needs a safe space to wake up in.” No-nonsense Josie starts to walk away, then turns back. “You gonna need my help?”
“No, I got her.” As I start to move, Alice remains mostly limp in my arms, and as I carry her up the stairs to set her on Josie and Beau’s couch, I wonder how I didn’t see that she was under the influence while we were talking. I should know better, damn it.