Page 4 of Almost Had You

“I’d support you if you told me what was going on,” Tannie hisses. I can’t tell anyone, especially my best friend who is a bigger gossip than a blowhard politician. “I meant does he look like a tortured war hero that needs comforting,” she adds, my problems all but forgotten in place of her own desires. “By a willing woman that is.”

“Seriously? Joe just broke up with you last week and you’re ready to dive back in?”

My best friend groans, opening the makeup pouch in her purse. “It will help me get over Joe. You don’t get it, Clover. You don’t date. You don’t have boyfriends or give your heart away and let men stomp all over it. Sometimes you need to mete out revenge…retribution.”

“Sounds like I’m not missing out on much,” I reply, capping my gloss and sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry Joe hurt you, but that has nothing to do with me, and I am capable of imagining what it feels like.”

“Actually,” she says, cocking her head to look at me. “Maybe you are the one who needs a night with Mercer Ballentine. What would be better than spending time with a man when you know there can’t be strings attached? He’s leaving, right? Not serious. No dating. No giving your heart away. Just something to get your mind off of whatever is plaguing you.” Tannie groans. “That you won’t even tell your best friend about.”

I consider it, truly. It takes a few seconds for me to snap back to reality. “Mercer isn’t that type of guy.”

“You mean, you’re not that type of girl.”

Oh, I am. But Mercer is too close to Greenton, too entwined in our lives. Our fathers work together. “I didn’t save my virginity for nearly three decades to give it to a man who cares nothing for it.”

“I bet he cares a lot,” Tannie says. “I bet if you got it over with, you’d feel a lot better.”

“Since when did we talk about such unladylike things?” I growl. “Let’s go in,” I order and open my car door to the humidity of an Alabama evening. Talking about more of my shortcomings isn’t good for my mental state. Not right now when I’m about to see Mercer again.

Tannie’s heels sound against the pavement as she tries to catch up to me. “I’m only trying to help you.”

Sighing, I halt and wait for my friend. “It’s not helping me, okay?” Bentley’s truck is parked off to the side and it catches my eye. “I’m having a drink and then leaving.”

My friend nods. “I’m sorry. That’s fine.”

I push on the good side of the double doors and enter DR. It always smells like wood polish and stale beer. The jukebox is playing an old country song, and everyone is wearing smiles. The bar is full, all the high-top tables filled with couples and groups of friends. I keep my head held high as Tannie links her arm in mine. “To the bar,” she says.

We make our way toward the long counter in the back of the room, where the large neon sign that says Dizzy Rocket blinks out a dying wish, making an annoying zapping sound. Tannie wedges her way between two men sitting on bar stools to get the bartenders attention. “Ladies need drinks,” she croons. “Come on now! Where are your manners?”

While my friend uses her feminine wiles, I scan the crowd to take stock of my surroundings. I smize at a few frenemies that catch my eye.

“If you’re looking for me darlin’, you should know I saw you the second you stepped through the door,” Mercer drawls from behind me. “The good side of the door.”

Smirking, I turn. “Well, well, well. There is the man of the hour. Tell me, did it hurt?”

Mercer changed into a plaid dress shirt. This must be his fancy shirt. His smile takes my focus away from his clothes, though. It’s wide and white and it takes me a moment to catch my breath.

“When I fell from Heaven?” Mercer asks, biting his bottom lip.

I shake my head. “Trying to fit your enormous head through the door. The bad side of the door. The one that’s broken.”

He laughs, tilting his head back, wide neck working as the chuckle shakes his body. I lick my lips and regret it when I taste my gloss. “You owe me white wine,” I announce.

Mercer is already nodding. “I got the bottle you mentioned ready. Let’s head over to the end of the bar and I’ll pour you a glass.”

Tannie snakes in next to us. A friendly serpent in expensive heels. “Mercer Ballentine you look good enough to eat.” She touches his shoulder. “Welcome back from the perilous war, my friend. Tell me how you’re doin’.”

I said I wasn’t interested so it shouldn’t unnerve me to see her hands on the man, but it does. Tannie has something I want, something I’m working at obtaining for myself. Free will. She has the ability to date whoever she wants. No one judging her for a one-night stand, or whispering behind her back for touching him. I interrupt, gritting my teeth. “About that glass of wine, then?”

My friend looks at me, and like a good Southern girl, she senses my irritation and backs off—stepping sideways a couple times. “Yeah, yeah you guys go catch up. I saw George and I need to know if Joe is dating yet. If he touches that bimbo Clarice, I will never forgive him.” George is Joe’s best friend, and it’s obvious she hasn’t embraced the fact that he is gone for good. I tell her I’ll catch up with her later and watch as she walks away. George sees her coming and his jovial smile morphs into fear.

Mercer holds out his arm. “After you.” There are two empty stools at the very end in the quietest part of the bar—farthest from the jukebox. This is where people sit when they’re on dates. I swallow down my hesitation, because it’s a stupid thing to worry about. Rather, it should be a stupid thing, but it’s not. My world has an odd set of rules.

“Shouldn’t you be working the crowd?” I ask, sitting on the stool, crossing my ankles like a lady, instead of at my knees like a lady of the night. Mercer nods at the bartender and then gestures to the bottle of wine chilling in a wine cooler. I can’t help but look around, take note of everyone who is staring at us. My skin prickles.

“What? Can’t this be considered working the crowd?” he replies, running a hand through his hair. I catch a whiff of his shampoo and clear my throat. He grabs two filled long stem glasses from the bartender and offers me one. I accept the glass, holding it up in between our bodies. “Cheers to Greenton. To making my way back home,” Mercer drawls, his blue eyes hold mine as we clink glasses and take that first delicious sip.

“It’s good, isn’t it,” I say, savoring the taste, trying not to think about how good he smells and why I’m hung up on such an insignificant thing.

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