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They’re traitors, threatening to close after the day I’ve had—the constant clinking of glasses, the sneering faces of Ricky and Snake, their laughter still echoing in my mind like a bad joke without a punchline.
“Jane,” Texas begins, his voice a low hum that commands attention, “you sure you’re alright?”
“Fine,” I reply, too quickly perhaps. “Just tired.”
He walks me to the door, his presence beside me a solid reassurance. At my doorstep, he leans down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss so chaste it almost feels like it didn’t happen. My skin tingles where his mouth was, a quiet plea for something deeper, but exhaustion tugs at my bones.
“Good night, Jane Everly,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat. “Dream sweet.”
“Night, Tex.” My voice is soft, wrapped in a sigh.
He turns, walking toward his motorcycle with a stride full of purpose, leaving me to wonder about the stories hidden beneath his inked skin and behind those intense blue eyes.
I lock the door behind me, stripping away the remnants of the day in a hot shower that fails to wash away the feel of Tex’s kiss. Crawling into bed, every muscle aches for rest, but my mind races, replaying that brief contact at the threshold of my doorway.
Tex becomes my last conscious thought as sleep overtakes me, his name a silent whisper in the dark.
* * *
Outside the bar, Texas waits. He’s a sentinel in denim and leather, leaning against the chrome and black of his motorcycle. His gaze is fixed, unwavering as patrons spill out onto the street, laughter and chatter trailing them like smoke.
But he’s not watching them. He’s watching for me.
His eyes catch mine as I step into the cool night air, and something unspoken passes between us—an acknowledgment, a tether pulled taut. I can’t read his thoughts, but I know he sees past the facade I wear.
“Evening, Tex,” I say, approaching him with a feigned nonchalance. His presence is a beacon, drawing me in despite the long day, despite the shadows that linger just out of sight.
“Evening, Jane,” he replies, his voice a slow drawl that wraps around my name like smoke around a flame. “Ready to head out?”
“Lead the way,” I respond, a playful challenge in my tone.
He offers no words as he helps me onto the bike and as we pull away from the bar, the night ahead unfurls like a dark ribbon, endless and mysterious.
The rumble of the motorcycle fades into a distant hum as we reach the outskirts of town. Our journey slows to a crawl as Tex guides the bike back to the covered bridge.
“Here we are,” Tex murmurs, cutting the engine at the mouth of the bridge.
I swing my leg over the side of the bike, feeling the gravel crunch beneath my boots. My heart ticks up a notch, not from fear, but anticipation—the kind that prickles your skin and tugs at the corners of your lips.
His hand is warm and sure as it closes around mine, his callouses a testament to roads traveled and burdens shouldered. I let him lead me into the shadowed throat of the bridge, where the world narrows to wood and darkness, and the soft susurration of leaves whispering secrets.
“Feels like stepping back in time,” I say, my voice hushed.
“Sometimes you gotta look back to see how far you’ve come,” he replies, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
Tex leads me to the center of the bridge.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Tex’s voice is softer now, his proximity sending ripples through the stillness inside me.
“Beautiful,” I agree, opening my eyes to find him watching me, not the scenery.
There’s something about the way he looks at me, like he sees beyond the bartender, beyond the tough exterior, right down to the marrow.
“Jane,” he starts, his tone shifting, a subtle undercurrent of concern threading through it, “you know I got your back, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” My response is automatic, but sincere.
“Good.” He nods once, decisively, as if sealing a pact.
