“I texted Aaron, he should be here in thirty.”
“I’m going to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” I say, cautiously getting to my feet.
“Are you okay to get over there?” Jack whispers in my ear. “Need me to walk you?”
“I’m fine, Jack Robbit,” I say, kissing his cheek. “But thank you for checking.” I barely make it five steps to the bathroom when I feel someone fall into step beside me. “I’m fine, Griffin,” I say in a singsong voice. “You don’t need to chaperone me.”
“I’m not chaperoning you, darlin’,” he says, and my stomach flutters.That’show the word is supposed to sound. “I just happen to also need the bathroom right now.”
“Sure you do,” I say, swinging the saloon doors open and stumbling to the first open stall I see. There’s nothing that makes you realize how drunk you are quite like sitting on a toilet in a bar bathroom.
Shit. Maybe I did need a chaperone.
Despite all odds, I manage to successfully wash my hands and exit the bathroom without incident. No part of me is surprised to see Griffin waiting for me outside. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” I say, breezing past him and heading back to the booth.
He grabs my arm gently, pulling me back until we’re close enough that I can smell the lingering bonfire smoke on his shirt. “No, but I wanted to,” he says softly. He hesitates, and I see some unnamed internal battle raging behind his eyes. His jaw sets, clearly having come to some sort of conclusion.
Ghosting his fingers down my arm, he delicately takes my hand, and whispers so low I can barely hear him. “Dance with me before you go?” As if on cue, a slow, romantic ballad begins to play, and partners make their way onto the floor.
I should say no. Being close to him at the barn was painful enough. Letting him touch me, letting himholdme, is a catastrophically bad idea. But somewhere along the way my wires get crossed, and the “no” turns into “okay” as the words travel from my alcohol soaked brain to my mouth.
Placing his hand on the small of my back, he guides me out and settles us into place, taking my hand more firmly in his and placing the other at my hip. We begin the slow country waltz, the sounds of the bar fading away as our eyes lock. I let him pull me in closer, the connection between us magnetic as ever.
“I remember the first time we danced in that parking lot,” he says, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “I watched so many videos on YouTube to practice before I had the nerve to try.”
“Really?” I say, a shocked giggle bubbling out of me. “I never knew that. You seemed like such a natural.”
“I was a bull in a china shop. That’s why I took you somewhere wide open, so I could eliminate all possible death traps.”
“Always so thoughtful,” I muse, reaching up to brush his hair back so I can see his face clearly. “My sweet southern gentleman.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he says, chuckling lowly. “I would have done anything you asked me to, darlin’.”
“Please don’t call me that,” I whisper, pulling away slightly.
“Why not?” he asks, voice thick with alcohol and emotion.
“Because I’m not a darling,” I respond. “And you have a girlfriend.”
He stiffens at the mention of Madison.
“Who I noticed isn’t here, by the way,” I say, irritation flaring. “Why’d you ditch her between the bonfire and the bar?”
“I didn’t ditch her,” he snaps. “She didn’t want to come.”
“So you thought I’d fill that hole for the time being? Be your temporary girl for the night until you go back to the real one?”
“You don’t get to be mad at me for finding someone, Eleanor,” he says, voice taking on a dangerous edge. “You’re the one who left me.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I snap. I’m being childish, petulant even, but the alcohol has lowered my inhibitions (and my maturity apparently).
The song ends, and I jump back out of his hold. He opens to his mouth to respond, but I turn with a pout andstorm out of the back doors and into the empty parking lot.
“Eleanor Turner, you come back here,” he shouts angrily. “What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem is that one minute you’re telling me you miss me and reminiscing, and the next you’re throwing it in my face that you found someone new,” I spit, my words feeling like venom in my mouth. “That’s not fair to me.”
“Not fair toyou?” he says with a hollow laugh. “No, what’s not fair is you showing up here five years later, no call, no text, no warning, and then getting mad at me for having a life after you ripped my heart out of my chest.”
