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When he gets in a group of women who love ink and know who he is, he seems to get completely lost. His abilityto function normally is all but gone and the Trace left to socialize is loud, boisterous, offensive, grabby and…annoying.
He’s Deuce’s friend, so I’m trying not to burn out. Though I can’t help but think that Bluebell isn’t the right fit for him.
Deuce and I sit at the end of the bar in a keno lounge, waiting for our next round of drinks before we hit the blackjack tables. Trace has been playing blackjack for two hours, and hit the ATM twice in that time.
“I mean, he’s good, right?” I ask Deuce, who is eyeing his friend across the casino as he sips from the long neck.
Deuce shoves a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “No, he’s not. But this is… his last hurrah.”
I cock an eyebrow, confused but wanting clarification. A cocktail waitress in a blue sequin corset passes by, dragging her fingernails along the terrain of my shoulders. “Hi, guys,” she offers, her voice throaty and strained against the diluted casino rumblings.
Deuce waggles his eyebrows at me after she passes by. I roll my eyes.
“No,” I say before sipping my beer. “Not my style.”
“Having some fun with a beautiful woman who you have no obligations to?” Deuce questions, nudging my arm with his. He sips his beer slowly, eyeing me. “You really don’t got a one-night stand in you?”
I shrug, finishing the beer. “Tell me about Trace. Let’s go back to that.”
Deuce laughs. “All right. Fine. But your sister is set on you not being single.”
“Trace,” I say simply, finishing my beer. My head goesa little flighty after I finish my fourth. I don’t usually drink unless it’s after a hard day on the ranch, when I feel like I’ve earned the vice. Being day-drunk just isn’t a thing for me.
Until now, apparently.
I rub my temples as Deuce twists on the barstool, legs spread wide in dark jeans and combat boots. “He’s coming to Bluebell to work at my new place, you know?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”
“Okay, so… he wants to come here and open this location and get it thriving. But he’s also getting away from some…bad PRin Los Angeles.”
“What did he do?” I ask, my skin prickling with unease as I glance over at the wealthy tattoo artist and TV star.
“He was engaged and it ended… publicly.”
I tilt my head. “I think you answered that question without actually answering that question.”
Deuce strokes his hand down the stubble growing. He’s growing a beard, apparently, and when I asked why he’d do that right before his wedding, he told me “the wedding night” and I wanted to bore holes through my eardrums and set my brain on fire.
“He cheated on his fiancé with his assistant… on a live stream. And, yeah, he’s… recovering.” Deuce shrugs. “No one’s perfect. I’m just helping a friend.”
I peer over at Trace who is slamming his inked hands against the green felted table, whooping in delight. This guy is clearly a mess, or a piece of shit, or both, but I respect Deuce for wanting to help.
I clap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “You’re a good man, Deuce.”
He shrugs. “I never thought I was until Everly told meshe loved me.” His face grows serious. “A woman like her would never love a loser. That’s when I learned my value, when your sister said she wanted to be my girl.”
That’s an incredibly thoughtful answer, so we both face forward and clear our throats, staring down the long neck of our beers, analyzing the booze.
“I’m glad Ev found you, Deuce, I am,” I finally say. The bartender slides us another, and I don’t remember ordering it but I take a long drink from it anyway, enjoying the fuzzy calm settling into my veins.
“So I won’t tell Ev but… what’s the deal? You reallystillain’t into Tiffani at all, huh?” he asks, his words slurring together a little. Maybe blackjack isn’t our best play after this.
I consider his words, and find it interesting that it takes a healthy amount of work to get Tiffani’s face to appear in my mind. And she showed up as I was leaving. And before that, she dropped off a casserole. Still, imagining her face takes effort. And it’s not the beer.
“I just… don’t get a feeling from her, you know?” I realize that I’m drunk as I say those words, because I’m not the kind of man to talk about my feelings in ethereal, generalized vagueness.
He nods. “When I laid eyes on Everly, I swear to God it was a movie moment. Like, the world around me jumbled into a slow, quiet blur and she was all I could see. And the first time we fu–”
