How many licks does it take to get to the center of your tootsie pop?
BooklyBinge:
I'm 5'6" but my throat is 6'1"
ExtraSpicyBookLover:
My throat might as well be a playground cause your kids will love it
Chapter 8
Wyatt
Me:Some of us are going to Nate’s bar tonight. You know it, right?
Bryn:I do…
Me:Would you like to join us? I’d love a chance to see you.
Bryn:Can’t join you. Plans already. Maybe next time.
Sittinginmy1969rebuilt Chevy C10, letting the air conditioning keep me cool in the warm evening air, I stare at the text exchange from earlier this afternoon, trying not to let the disappointment rise too high. Of course she’s busy. She’s got a whole life going on, and Quinn did snort and wish me luck getting her to ever come out. The night at Kickin’ Boots might have been something of a miracle.
Drumming my fingers on the bottom of the black steering wheel, I look out over the blue hood. There’ll be another chance to ask her out in person, and I’ll seize it. Worst comes to worst, I call her and ask her out that way.
I grab my cowboy hat from the black leather bench seat beside me and slide out of the truck. After adjustingthe hat on my head, I look at my reflection in the window and give myself a nod of approval. Brown t-shirt with my family’s ranching logo on the left pec, white hat, and while I can’t see them in the image, my trusty Wrangler’s sit low on my hips.
Liam, upon his invite earlier, told me I better not show up without the hat.
As I head towards the entrance, I open my phone camera and take a quick video walking through the parking lot with the sun starting to set behind me, winking for the little send-off I’ll add at the end.
The outside of the bar seems more suited in a place like Diamond River than it does in a coastal surfing town like Santa Rosé, with its wooden framing and beams for an awning that hangs over the front. A long walkway made of boards lines the entire front of the place.
I like it. Nate has good taste.
Entering the bar, I do a sweep of the place. Booths made of dark, burnt barnwood along the walls, similar tables in the center, and a bar that matches along the far wall. There’s even a dance floor, though no one is on it right now. Not shocking, considering the speakers aren’t playing anything too loud, and the place seems more centered around dinnertime than party time.
“Hey, cowboy!” A voice shouts from across the bar where Quinn stands, waving an arm.
Seated around her is everyone I met on shift at the station, plus two other familiar faces I recognize from the night I met Bryn. Savanna and Jordan.
There are two chairs left, and I decide on the one to the right of the head of the table where Brody is sitting, pulling it out and sinking into it while giving everyone a nod.
“I see the appeal,” Liam, sitting across from me, comments. “There’s a valid reason they all came back talking about the cowboy.”
My grin widens, and I flick the tip of my hat. “It has a certain effect.”
“Is that why you wear it?” Savanna, at the far end of the table, asks, arching an eyebrow in my direction.
“Nope, our cowboy here has a three-date rule,” Quinn inserts, staring at me from beside Savanna. When everyone turns to stare at her, she shrugs. “I grilled him on shift about his intentions with Bryn.”
“She asked if I was going to bang her or date her,” I correct with a shake of my head.
“Actually, I asked if you were going to fuck her or date her, but semantics.” She flips her dark hair over her shoulder, then grins at me. I learned on shift that she wears different contacts every day, and tonight they’re a vibrant shade of violet that looks unnatural but suits her.
Across the table, Liam nudges Jordan and gives a nod of his head. It’s the smirk he’s wearing, though, that makes me wonder what he’s seeing, but before I look over my shoulder, Savanna is speaking from down the table.
“For the record, I think you should do both. That girl needs a little more fun in her life.”
