Page 20 of Firefly Embers

It was unnatural to see her so docile. There hadn’t been a time since I’d met her in the cove that ‌summer evening when Ray had been silent.

One of two things was happening: she was either upset about something and didn’t want to talk, or she was coming up with a plan. Neither was an inherently good option.

Pulling into the parking lot, her demeanor changed. A mask seemed to fall into place, arranging her features into her customary cheerful facade.

She looked over in my direction, her gaze full of fire as she smiled. Despite the dance of flames in her eyes, an unrelenting icy dread consumed me.

Something about the look on her face had my balls involuntarily shriveling and my dick rock hard with desire.

Ray was scary when she was mad, but this look? It was sheer determination, and I was sitting in the driver’s seat, an uncomfortable mix of deathly afraid and undeniably turned on.

RAY

Jack’s was a hustle and bustle of activity as we pulled open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.

Every corner of the run-down bar was filled with cowboys and cowgirls celebrating their last weekend of freedom before they needed to buckle down on training for the December National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas.

I didn’t wait for Wade to follow me, my footsteps echoing across the sticky floors. I walked with confident strides, the polished wood of the bar cool beneath my hands as I leaned over to catch Hayes, the longtime bartender’s, attention.

I felt the stares of drunken cowboys on my skin, their shameless perusal of my body a welcome distraction from the one person’s stare I wanted and didn’t have.

Wade had acted like I didn’t exist from the moment we stepped out of the truck. If I was donning a mask of enjoyment, he was donning a mask of indifference.

I leaned over the bar, holding down the back of my dress, and grinned at the rugged bartender pouring shots.

“No funny business tonight, Ray,” he grumbled in my direction, pouring what looked like bourbon into a rocks glass and adding two small ice cubes.

He slid the glass across the bar to the patron, a tall man with a fitted grey tee, black cowboy hat, and a thick but neatly trimmed chestnut-brown beard.

I raked my eyes over the tattoos that trailed across his arms, swirling over every inch of visible skin.

The man nodded his thanks and headed over to a four-top table that was occupied by a few other men of his same stature.

He looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew him from. I knew he must have been part of the rodeo circuit because Wade walked right up and slapped him on the shoulder, garnering a firm handshake and a nod.

I turned back to Hayes, grinning as he waited for me to order.

“Oh, Hayes-y baby. I never cause funny business,” I drawled sweetly, slipping into a thick Southern accent. “I’m just a lowly Southern belle looking for a strong cowboy to sweep me off my feet.”

Hayes rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo, my drink of choice. He poured two shots and slid one my way, picking the other up in a simple toast.

I tipped my head back and brought the cool edge of the shot glass to my lips, drinking it down as if it were nothing more than a glass of water.

Tequila and I had a volatile relationship, but the liquid courage coursed through my system, creating a warmth across my body that was welcome and relaxing.

I set the shot glass back on the bar top, signaling Hayes to pour me another. He grumbled something that sounded oddly like “fucking tequila” under his breath, but reluctantly filled the small glass to the brim.

I brazenly reached across the bar to grab a lime and a saltshaker, much to Hayes’s dismay. Righting myself back on the sticky floor of the bar, I winked in his direction and blew him an exaggerated kiss.

I laughed when he placed his fists on his hips and tilted his head back in exasperation as he did his best to act affronted.

Hayes had been the sole bartender at Jack’s for as long as I could remember. He was in his early fifties and had seen his fair share of Cortez and Daniels shenanigans over the years.

There may have been a few instances where Hayes threatened to call my father after one too many shots. Subsequently, there may also have been a night that included a weaponized pool stick, Coyote Ugly-style tabletop dancing, and bucket loads of puke all over the floor.

I twirled around and leaned against the bar top, scanning the room for our group of friends.

The bar was packed, but I couldn’t mistake Stella’s bright blonde hair and frantically waving arm flapping animatedly from across the room. My smile spread wide as I made my way over to where they had commandeered a large table for our ever-growing group.