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Danny frowned, but filled the glass, though he leaned close and said gruffly. “That’s it at least for the next half an hour and I’m going to bring you some greasy fries to soak it up. Understand?”
She nodded like a good girl and leaned her elbows on top of the bar, staring down at the glass for a few moments before taking a sip. This time she let the whiskey settle on her tongue a bit before swallowing. She needed to savor the sensation. The sensation of falling into oblivion.
Her eyes drifted upward and she spied a large red heart dangling from the stiff end of a fake—or not—large fish. A bass maybe. The paper heart was startlingly, vibrant amongst the dull browns that invaded nearly every inch of the bar and she stared at it so long it blurred and she glanced away, feeling a little dizzy.
Danny pushed a plate of fries in front of her and surprisingly enough, she was hungry. “Thanks,” she said softly as she dug in, tossing a mean look toward one of the men from the table a few feet away as he slid onto the stool beside her.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She swallowed a mouthful of gravy before answering. “Yeah, I do.”
“Wow, what’s got you so cranky? Late for a wedding?” He grinned down at her, but it quickly faded when she let the frosty, bitchy part of her rise to the surface. It was something she’d perfected well over the last few years.
“Not really. The wedding was nearly three hours ago.”
“Huh,” he replied.
“Huh,” she mimicked. “Is that all you got?”
The guy brushed his hand through a thick cropping of curly hair and slid off the chair. He wasn’t bad looking in an ordinary, bland, sort of way and she was sure he was perfectly nice—for someone who hung out at The Hard Rock. But she was done with men. Done with thinking.
And obviously—as she dripped gravy onto her lap—done with weddings.
“You’re a cold one. A real bitch,” he sneered as he backed away toward his buddies.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she answered, his words triggering a memory that she preferred to keep hidden, tucked away in that place reserved for the one man who’d said them before.
She stared down at her plate and suddenly her gut rolled. It took a few moments to calm her stomach and when she did, she slipped off the stool and into her shoes. She then wandered over to the small dance floor, located in the back corner near the washrooms. She needed to move and get the blood flowing because as much as she was all about being badass at the moment, there was no way in hell she was going to pass out in this place.
A small DJ booth was set up in the corner, just as she remembered and as her foot hit the tired and worn wooden floor the energetic strains of the Dixie Chicks’, Goodbye Earl, followed her.
She laughed—the kind of laugh that had lived inside her for years before she banished it away—an uninhibited Julia Roberts kind of moment. And then she twirled, or maybe staggered a little, but her skirt rolled out into a full circle as she turned around and let the music invade her tired soul.
It woke something inside her. Something she’d forgotten about ages ago. Her fun button. When was the last time she had done anything just for the sheer pleasure of how it made her feel? She loved music and she loved to dance.
She used to do a lot of it with Shane. Hell, if they weren’t making love they were getting out of hand.
For one second—one bittersweet second—she let the pain that always accompanied thoughts of Shane, swell. It grew and tightened her chest. It clogged her throat and flushed her skin with something fierce, hot, and dangerous. And for that one moment, here at the Hard Rock, she felt more alive than she had in a very, very, long time.
As the music filled the space around her, Bobbi lost herself in it and when the song ended, when the loud raucous melody crashed to its finale, she wasn’t ready to let it go. She glanced at Danny, her hair sticking to the side of her face, her skin flushed, and he nodded as if he knew what she needed. The gentle strains of Skynard fell into her ears, the country blues strains of Simple Kind of Man.
Slowly her hips moved back and forth and as she twirled all by herself, there in the shadows, her mind rolled back and for a moment she was confused. Was it the booze? Was she that drunk?
Arms slid around her waist, hard arms—male arms—and she relaxed into the embrace, her eyes closed as the haunting melody infiltrated her mind and soul.
“Shane,” she murmured, her head falling back.
“Baby you can call me anything you want.” The voice was gravelly. Unfamiliar.
Bobbi’s eyes flew open and she stiffened, her fingers trying to pry the man’s hands from around her waist. Heat burned through her cheeks when she realized his groin was pressed right up against her butt.
He chuckled in her ear and managed to turn them away from the room so that they faced the DJ booth, and Bobbi’s panic began to rise when she realized exactly just how excited this guy was. She could feel it—through her raw silk skirt.
“Let me go,” she said carefully. It was dark here and no one could see what was happening real well. And that’s if they were looking.
He just laughed a low, menacing growl, and his hands crept up toward her chest, kick-starting panic, anger and frustration.
She tried to wrench herself from his grasp, hating when he laughed again and murmured, “This dress is a little slippery, just like you.”
