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“Ain’t it?” Her friend slid off the stool, reaching back to grab the shot of tequila Johnny had delivered, downing it in one smooth motion. Then her friend took Rodney’s hand and tugged him toward the dance floor.
Jax’s gaze never left Mary Catherine.
And in that moment in the hustle and bustle of the Thirsty Cowboy, Georgia almost cried for what could never be—for girls who grew up and learned life was a big ol’ shit sandwich of expectations, obligations, and general suckiness.
She slid onto the stool Mary Catherine had abandoned and told Johnny, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
* * *
An hour later,Georgia pushed outside the bar, taking a deep, steadying breath. She’d been so busy since she’d crossed the Texas state line, she hadn’t time to truly think about being back in Holly Hills. The bar had suddenly closed in on her, and she really needed time to think.
Maybe she shouldn’t have done the three tequila shots. Her thighs felt numb and her head fuzzy. If only Jose Cuervo had done the same job on the memories that kept washing over her.
Coming home hurt more than she anticipated.
She could handle it, of course. She’d always stuck out her chin and dared the world to slap her, hiding weakness behind gutsy bravado. But over the past ten years, she’d forgotten what it was like being a trashy Hightower, what it was like being worthless.
Yeah, yeah. Plenty of kids grew up poor, raised in a shack, making spare cash by selling produce from the back of a pickup. Plenty of folks had baggage. Shitty childhoods weren’t exclusive to her. But who liked being reminded of gnawing hunger, finger-pointing, and jeers? What insane nutjob wanted to go back to walking on shards of glass?
’Cause that’s what Holly Hills felt like—a punched-out window in the emptiness of her soul.
The bang of the door pulled her from her poor-me thoughts.
“There you are, sexy,” Rodney said, tipping back his cowboy hat, his breath condensing in the cool night air.
“Yes, here I am,” Georgia sighed, wondering why this guy hadn’t gotten the message. Her flirty move when she, Mary Catherine, and Claire had first arrived had been ill-conceived. Rodney thought she was into him, though for the past hour she’d done everything but scream “I’m not into you” to let him know otherwise. Obviously, the man was as dense as granite. Or marble. Or whatever really hard material worked.
Rodney leaned toward her, anchoring a hand on the wall. “A little privacy’s a good thing.”
“I want to be alone.”
No hesitation as he leaned in. “You don’t mean that, do you, darlin’?”
Georgia planted a hand on his chest. “Oh, but I do.”
“No reason for you to come out here other than to be alone... with me. You’re primed for it, baby.”
“Are you deaf or merely dumb?” Georgia asked, trying to slide to her left. He set his other hand down, blocking her move.
“Just crazy ’bout you. You’re hotter than shit on a shingle.”
What the hell?
“I’m sure you think that’s a compliment, but thing is, I came out here to be alone. Me. Myself. I.” Georgia brushed the hand he’d lowered to her shoulder away. “As in ‘not with you.’”
“Awwww, come on now. I’m a single guy, you’re a single gal. Let’s just do whatever feels good.” Rodney leaned in, his lips pursed.
And that’s when Georgia gave him a hard shove.
He stumbled back, his mouth falling open... Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “What the fuck? Are you crazy?”
“I said I wanted to be alone. I meant it.”
“You goddamn bit—”
“Is there a problem here?”
Rodney and Georgia both spun toward the drawl to find Reed leaning against the weathered tin covering the Thirsty Cowboy. Georgia would have expected her knight in shiny cowboy boots to be concerned, but he didn’t look overly worried about Rodney putting the moves on her. Maybe it was because he had five inches and a good thirty pounds on Rodney, or maybe it was because she’d pretty much laid out the fact she wasn’t interested in him.
