Page 89 of Downpour

It was going to be a long few hours of keeping my hands mostly to myself, but the idea of hanging out at a bar for a few hours and watching a set wasn’t half bad.

It felt... normal.

Brooke pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. “Do you know the layout inside?”

I wracked my brain. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been here, but it’s pretty tight. Lots of tables. I think they have a ramp in the back.”

Her pretty features twisted into a look of disgust. “That’s ridiculous.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Want me to go scope it out and grab a table?” she offered as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

I opened my door. “Nah. Let’s just bite the bullet together.”

I waited until she pulled my wheelchair out of the truck bed before I spoke up again. “Besides, you in those shorts? No way in hell I’m letting you walk in there alone.”

Brooke blushed. “Sounds like you’re staking your claim.”

I settled into my chair and slid my hand up the back of her thigh, squeezing her ass. “Yes, ma’am.”

I clenched my teeth as she helped me navigate the wheelchair over the lip of the sidewalk, but tried my best not to snap at her.

While Brooke got carded at the door, I peered inside and planned my path. It was crowded, but not too packed. We made it inside just as the dinner rush began, seconds before it became wall-to-wall with people.

“This place is such a vibe,” Brooke said as she walked behind me, taking in the neon signs, stage, and mechanical bull. “I’m obsessed. Do you know the band?”

“No,” I said as I spotted an empty high-top table. “I need a hand.”

Brooke’s palm felt soft as she slid it into mine and helped me up. I grabbed the edge of the table and stretched to my full height before settling backwards onto the tall chair. She folded up my wheelchair and stowed it between my seat and the table, keeping it out of the way until I needed it.

I’d probably stay in this seat all night, but it felt good. Normal. Something I hadn’t felt in a while.

“I’m gonna grab some drinks,” Brooke said before heading to the bar.

From the high-top, I had a clear view over the heads of the bar patrons. I could watch people play pool and darts. I watched the musicians fiddling with the amps and instruments on stage. A woman was at the padded ring where the mechanical bull was set up, sweeping and making sure it was clean.

A lump formed in my throat. The old me used to love coming here when I was nearby and had time off.

“Excuse me,” a feminine voice said, but it wasn’t Brooke’s.

I looked over my shoulder at the redhead who was hanging off the back of my seat. She had big green eyes, a blinding smile, and something mischievous in her gaze.

Her tone was sugar-sweet as she laid a manicured hand on my thigh. “This is going to make me sound crazy if I’m wrong, but are you Ray Griffith?”

Her serpentine posture made it very clear that she knew exactly who I was.

I kept my eyes on Brooke. Her back was arched as she leaned on the bartop, waiting for our drinks.

“I used to be.”

She slinked closer. “The tattoos give it away. I watched your last ride in Houston. I’ve always been a big rodeo girl. What are you doing these days?”

Brooke’s hips swung as she grabbed two beers from the bartender and elbowed her way back to the table.

The redhead looked Brooke up and down when she sidled up to the table and placed a beer in front of me. “Still pulling buckle bunnies, I see…”

I was about to tell the woman to get lost when Brooke’s smile lit up the room. “Oh my god. You’re the sweetest. Thank you.”

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