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Or, if I'm being truly honest, it's because of how good it feels to be wearing Cole's flannel, the scent of him warming me like my favorite dressing gown. I don't even care about the lingering muskiness of his sweat or that the smell of tobacco smoke clings to the fabric.
Because, if I close my eyes and block out the noise of the party around me, focusing only on the touch of his shirt to my skin, I can almost pretend that I'm his again. Of course, the fantasy fades the moment my eyelids blink back open and my gaze falls once more upon the room full of familiar strangers.
“Well, don't you look like you're having fun?” a voice from my right says, words dripping with sarcasm.
I turn to find Leighton smirking at me, two Solo cups in hand. She extends one out to me in offering and I accept it with an awkward but grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Despite the gesture, the atmosphere between us isn't a comfortable one. It's strained somewhat and a little tense. I'm not even embarrassed to admit that anxiety twists in my stomach at the anticipation of whatever it is she's come over here to say.
“I'm not really in the mood to get chewed out right now, Leighton,” I say quietly.
Not after the fight I've just had with Cole.
She frowns, forehead creasing in confusion. “Who said anything about chewing you out?”
“Isn't that why you came over?”
“Um, no.” She blinks. “I saw you looking all miserable and shit and thought you might want a drink.”
“Oh.”
“Is paranoia something you picked up in Hollywood?” she asks with a wry smile.
I shake my head. “Just one of the blessings of being back home.”
“Fair enough.” She chuckles, taking a long gulp of her beer. “But why even come tonight if you hate this town so much?”
The scowl on my face is instantaneous. “Why does everyone think I hate this goddamn town?”
“Um, 'cause you left?”
I roll my eyes. “It's not me who hates the town. It's the town who hates me.”
“Maybe it wouldn't if you hadn't run the way you did.”
“What happened to not chewing me out?”
“Hey,” she laughs, holding her hands in the air. “I didn't mean anything by it, just stating facts. Word is you left 'cause you thought you were better than everyone else.”
“Says who?”
She shrugs. “Just some people 'round town. Mrs. Patchouli mainly. She's always got a lot to say about you.”
“Of course she does.” That woman and her goddamn gossip. “She's wrong, though. Maybe if she knew the real reason I left, she'd learn to keep her mouth shut.”
Leighton looks at me quizzically, eyes scanning my face.
“What about tonight?” she asks, her voice softer this time. “Like, I don't mean no offense, honestly, I'm just wondering, ya know? What made you come to the party? Surely you weren't expecting a warm welcome.”
Somehow, I find myself telling her the truth. “Mama Belle invited me, thought it would help me win some favor with Cole or something. I don't know.”
“Oh yeah?” Leighton raises a brow in amusement. “And how's that going?”
We swing simultaneous glances toward the corner of the room where Cole stands with his hands shoved into his jeans pocket and a scowl like an angry toddler twisting his handsome face.
Beside him, a woman I only vaguely recognize is tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. He shrugs her off without looking her way. She hisses something in his direction before storming out of the barn.
“Not great.”
