Apparently, Brinton was a line dancer now.
Her body hummed as the final notes of Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl (Shake It For Me)” faded. An equally winded Sammi draped her arm around Brinton’s shoulders and squeezed.
“Let’s cool off a bit,” she said, leading them to a roped-off VIP section at the back of the club.
The bouncer, whose full beard deserved an honorary spot in ZZ Top, nodded as he lifted the velvet rope. A hostess with short, auburn pigtails led them to a leather booth in the corner.
At their table, ice-cold water bottles, tequila, and all the fixings filled a fancy metal cooler.
“You were willing to pay that bartender a hundred bucks when you could have gotten bottle service for free?” Brinton asked.
“I only come back here to rest my feet,” Sammi explained. “It’s usually full of slimy A&R guys from the labels. The main bar—and the dance floor—are way more my speed,” she said.
Despite Sammi’s perfectly curated exterior, she didn’t actively seek the others’ approval. Brinton admired that.
The VIP crowd was a decidedly stuffy, less friendly mix of middle-aged men and their bored, twenty-something dates, who passed the time by snapping equally indifferent thirst traps on their phones.
“So, havin’ fun yet?” Sammi asked, flopping dramatically into the booth.
Brinton gulped down her water, relieved not to be crying in a grimy bar bathroom stall right now. “I think I really needed this tonight.”
She had prepared for the worst—looking like a fool on the dance floor or being accosted by people who meant her harm—but the exact opposite had happened. It didn’t takeaway from Jamie’s stinging betrayal, but it was a welcome distraction.
Sammi’s emerald eyes flashed as she set down her water bottle. “That’s what I wanna hear.”
Brinton sank into the plush cushion and scanned the bar at the exact moment Jamie looked up from his untouched beer, meeting her eyes. Alone in a booth at the other side of the VIP section, he looked miserable as he peeled the label from his beer bottle.
She could go talk to him, but he’d effectively pushed her away, like Eli and every other guy she’d dared believe in.
So, that was that.
Sammi followed Brinton’s gaze and exhaled dramatically. “What’d he do now?”
“We’re not on the same page.”
Brinton was used to metabolizing her feelings, sharp and punishing like vinegar. But now, with what felt like a trusted friend, she was hungry for closure.
Sammi’s smile softened into something more solemn as she pressed her hand on top of Brinton’s. “I’m going out on a limb to share this, but I really like you. It wouldn’t sit right with me if I didn’t.”
They exchanged knowing glances across the table.
“Don’t worry. This stays off the record,” Brinton said, nodding. It was the least she could do.
Sammi exhaled, a rare shadow of trepidation in her eyes. “For as successful as Jamie is, his personal life don’t come with much freedom. Given that you’ve met his father, I don’t have to explain why. And I worry that sometimes, he’s carrying too much on his shoulders.”
“I don’t think I can help with that,” Brinton said flatly.
“I disagree. I think you’ve been a welcome relief for him. He won’t talk to me about it, but his spirit seems…lighter.”
Brinton’s gut lurched as the realization sank in. Even asshe’d slowly gotten to know Jamie, she had taken for granted that despite the fame and women and whiskey, he was a person who hurt like anyone else. Perhaps then, she owed it to him to at least explain himself? Otherwise, the unspoken ease between them meant nothing.
Damn, she wanted it to meansomething.
“I’ll talk to him,” Brinton said through a half smile. He’d convinced her to trust him, and in the process, she was starting to trust herself. She didn’t want to give that up either.Sammi drained the rest of her water bottle, then screwed the top off the tequila. “This article is gonna be one for the books.”
She arranged two shot glasses in front of her and poured the chilled potion into each. Sammi passed Brinton a lime wedge and nudged the shot toward her.
“Cheers,” Sammi trilled, clinking her glass against Brinton’s.
