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Chapter 9
Allie came with me to Corner Store, which is not a corner store but the bar I invited her to earlier today. As promised, several blue-collar guys hovering over their beers decorate the joint.
Exposed wooden beams hold up the ceiling and unleveled stone floors make the place feel like England in the 1800s. The sturdy wooden chairs with spindled backs that ring the tables are beaten and worn from use, but in all the right places. Kind of like the patrons.
I’ve been here roughly two million times. I started coming out with my co-workers when I worked for my dad, shortly after Allie and I went kaput. They gave me unholy hell about “moping” over my ex-girlfriend and I let them goad me into coming. The main draw of this place is that it’s not a hookup scene. When I don’t feel like dealing with the bullshit of charming a chick, this is where I show up.
Tonight, that ex-girlfriend is at my side. The only woman here besides Allie is the bartender. Beverly is sixty, with brutally short dark hair and stud earrings ringing one ear. She welcomes us with “Hey, Jax!” when I walk through the door. A few of the guys I’ve chatted with over the years give me a subtle nod or an outright wave, but at a glance I don’t see any of the guys from Dad’s company. Just as well. I promised Allie she’d avoid scrutiny here.
“Who would’ve pictured you as a barfly?” she asks, stepping slightly closer to me. This isn’t her crowd, so she doesn’t need to worry. No one is pulling out a smartphone to snap a photo of us together and sell it to the highest bidder. But that doesn’t mean that most of the guys in this place aren’t checking her out. She’s hard not to stare at, and it has nothing to do with how famous she is. She’s wearing a ball cap, her long dark ponytail sticking out the back and curling at the ends. Her pink shorts reveal tanned legs that end in white sneakers with low socks. Her T-shirt is soft looking and clingy. She’s so fucking cute you can’t resist a second look.
We choose a table and order wings and mozzarella sticks. Bev delivers two bottles of beer and eyes Allison for a prolonged, silent beat. Recognition sparks in Bev’s eyes and Allie, being a pro, is aware of it and offers a tight smile.
“Nice of you to come in and see us,” Bev says meaningfully, then with a nod leaves us be.
“She recognized you,” I tell Allie.
“I guess? She didn’t react the way I expected.” Beneath the bill of her cap, her eyes are shadowed.
“She’s cool.”
“I guess I forgot what Little Town was like.”
“We are a simple folk.” That earns me a small smile. I take a pull from my beer bottle.
“Thanks. For inviting me out. I’m sure you have better ways to spend your evening.” She examines the label on her Miller Lite, decides there’s nothing to learn from it, and lifts it to her lips.
“Lame.”
“What’s lame?” She frowns at her beer.
“That comment, Mini. Super lame. Don’t act like you’re not worthy of my time. Or like you’re putting me out. It’s lame.”
Her face pinches before she admits, “I’ve been needy lately. It won’t happen again.”
That sizzle is back. It’s simmering in the background but it’s there. I keep reassuring myself that I’m a grown man now, and I won’t be towed in by her like I was when I was sixteen.
I’m no longer sixteen. I don’t follow my dick around like it’s motorized and speeding away from me in high gear. It’s also no longer attached to my heart. That’s the purpose of early relationships—learning that the dick-to-heart strings never should’ve been tied together in the first place. Once you sever those, dating is easier.
“What is it that you need, Mini?” I tip my bottle again. “Specifically.”
She bites the flesh of her bottom lip before answering me. “I thought this wasn’t a date.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then why are you flirting with me?”
“I can’t help it.” Where she’s concerned, I have two modes: arguing with her and making out with her. I prefer the latter. I severed those dick-to-heart strings a long time ago. And yeah, I may have broken my number one rule when I kissed her—and let her kiss me—but I’m capable of kissing her without becoming too involved.
Compartmentalizing. It’s a guy thing.
Though, now that I’m thinking about it…maybe she’s thinking the same way.
“Talk to me,” I invite.
“About?” She glances around and smiles sweetly when Harry—the old guy in the booth—waves in a non-lecherous way. He’s a nice guy. She’s right to smile back.
“Why’d you come out with me tonight?”
