Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Wedding party.”
His eyes go over my head and search the floor until he sees the gaggle of girls wearing bridesmaid sashes, dressed in white, but then again, there are other bachelorette parties here tonight, so ours is no different.
“Gotcha.” He taps the bar top with three fingers. “I’ll grab your drinks.”
Tess’s lips move, and I can’t hear what she’s saying, so I lean in. “What was that now?”
“I said, must be nice to get recognized.”
My shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Eh. Sometimes but not always.” I pause. “Did you not see how that chick Sissy reacted to me? That’s the shit that happens most days, and in those cases, it’s not cool being recognized.”
“She didn’t recognize you. She’s just a maneater.” Tess laughs. “She’s like that with everyone, no offense.”
Dillon brings back two drinks and sets them on the bar. “It’s on the house.”
“Now is it nice that you get recognized?” She stirs her cocktail with the thin black straw bobbing up and down in her drink, poking the lime inside with the end of it.
“Guess so.” I fish a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and slap it on the counter as a tip. “Thanks, man.” I hold the beer bottle up, tipping it toward him in salute, then tap it against Tess’s glass. “Here’s a toast.”
“A toast to what?” She sips her drink.
“A toast to…shit, I dunno. Lettin’ loose and havin’ fun?”
“I’ll toast to that, but it doesn’t seem like you’re letting loose at all or havin’ fun.” She laughs, looking me up and down and judging me a bit boring.
“What’s it gonna take for me to look like I’m havin’ fun?”
“I don’t know. We could go back on the dance floor, and you can show me what you got.”
“Show you what I’ve got? Darlin’, I don’t have nothin’.”
Tess is giggling, I’m sure of it. I can’t hear it, but I can see it in the way her eyes are lighting up.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say you’ve got nothin’. You have plenty.” She grabs my arm again the way she had before, pulling at me and tugging me toward the damn dance floor. Making me wonder why I opened my dumb big mouth.
A song about fishing in the dark comes on—a song that’s as old as dirt but a country classic—and arms are thrown in the air as people shout and stomp their feet to the tune, yelling the words of the chorus, most of them off-key.
So fucking fun.
I feel like a giant clod pole among short people, towering over most of them as I dance and sing, chugging my beer to loosen up even more.
And let me be clear: two beers isn’t going to get me buzzed, let alone drunk, especially not when I’m sweating it off.
This time when the song tempo changes, I don’t walk off the dance floor.
I look down at Tess as she looks up at me, putting my hand on her hip as she slides her free hand to my shoulder.
Welp. Guess we’re committed.
CHAPTER 15
TESS
“HOW ARE YOU STILL SINGLE?” LMAO YOU’RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT, SIT TIGHT BUDDY.
“This feels like prom.” I smile at Drew so as not to make this awkward and joke about how odd this feels, though it doesn’t feel odd at all.
“Prom? So formal.”
“Okay, maybe homecoming?”
“Still too formal.”
I squint at him through narrowed eyes. “Did you even go to dances in high school?”
“No.” He laughs. “Well, nope. That’s not entirely true. Our mama made us get dressed up a few times so she could know what it was like to take pictures for a dance. She didn’t have girls and always felt like she was missin’ out.”
“Aw, your poor mama, stuck with you four monsters.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Yup, we sure didn’t make things easy, but if I’m bein honest, I never gave her much trouble. Dallas and Drake were the worst.”
I’d heard about the trouble they’d caused as teenagers. Dallas Colter, his second oldest brother, was a legend in our town for causing mischief. There’s a country song about painting on a water tower, and Dallas Colter went and did the same as a senior prank, spray painting his football number on it like some kind of idiot.
“Seriously. Who spray paints their own damn number on a water tower and expects not to get caught?”
Drew knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Do you know how pissed our daddy was? Jesus Christ, he was damn lucky he didn’t get expelled, and they only let him graduate ’cause they were headed to the state championship and didn’t want to lose.”
I purse my lips.
That’s the thing I hate about this town: football players are treated like damn royalty and like saints even when they act like dicks and assholes and do shit like spray paint government property. In this day and age, should they still be getting away with that shit?