Page 28 of The Back Forty
Well, shit.
“Excuse me for a second,” I say, pushing up from the table, wobbling just a little. “I need to talk to Regan.”
Neither of them notices my tone. Good. They’re too busy talking about some book that Isla's reading and the job that I know Catalina will never care about understanding.
And that's my cue, to go pull myself together and start acting like the strong woman that I am. The one who’s worked next to Lawson for over a year and is strictly his employee and friend.
Chapter 11 – Dani
I slide onto the barstool and grip the edges of the wood tightly to steady myself.
“Hey, Dani,” Regan says, giving me a warm smile. She’s radiant, glowing, still early in her pregnancy that she wanted more than anything in the world.
She’s got that peaceful, settled energy I keep pretending I’m not desperate for because that would mean that marriage and kids are on my life goals plan and that’s simply never been the case. But she looks good, perfect even. Her and her husband Hayes Walker, a former bull rider turned our small town's emergency room doctor, had an unconventional start but I’m happy for their finish together.
She pours me another whiskey sour and slides it over. “You’re not driving, right?”
Fuck. I hadn’t thought about that. I walked here with Catalina as soon as we finished with the parade prep and have no wayto get back to Lawson’s house. I guess I could crash on the couch in Isla's for just one night... But before I can answer her, Lawson’s suddenly there, his hand landing firm and warm on my shoulder, his cologne that clings to my skin on every flight we take together wrapping around me like a hug.
I practically jump out of my skin.
His touch is grounding and electrifying all at once, a jolt of heat that shoots through my alcohol-soaked system and makes my breathing stutter all over the place.
“Nah,” he says easily, voice low and sure. “I’ll take her home.”
He turns his attention to me with a smile, and it’stoo much. Too close. Too kind. His hazel eyes are molten caramel up close, and for a second, I have to blink away because the look in them might unravel me entirely.
This is fine. Totally fine. This is just him being polite. We’re polite with each other all the time. We’re in close quarters,all the fucking time,we joke each other non-stop. We’ve seen each other at our lowest and our highest. I’m overthinking this entire situation simply because I'm drunk and I neverget drunk around him.
Maybe if I push him toward Catalina in my head hard enough, I can stop wanting him. Maybe if I imagine them together—naked, tangled up, not giving a single damn about me—it’ll make it easier to forget how good his hand feels on my skin right now.
“Hey,” I say, pretending like I hadn’t just conjured up soft moans and tangled sheets between them to refocus my attention. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”
He frowns a little, eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to read more than just the words.
“What number is that?” he asks, glancing at my drink and ignoring my comment.
I roll my eyes, deflecting. “I’m off the clock, boss.”
His gaze sharpens, narrowing. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t play along.
“Three,” I whisper, because when he looks at me like that—all firm and steady and a little disappointed—I can’t lie. From the moment that I’ve met him, I’ve wanted to please him, and I guess twelve months later, I still do. Desperately. Like I said, I'm a sucker for praise. Especially his.
His jaw ticks.
“Are we celebrating something?” he asks quietly, like he’s trying not to make a scene. His voice dips low and gentle and it makes everything way worse because this isn’t the tone we use with each other.
No, Lawson. We’re not celebrating anything. We’re mourning. Silently, stupidly, pathetically mourning the fact that somehow you slipped out of the box I put you in firmly, and I know I can’t have you.
I wish you’d stop being so nice.
I wish you’d go home with my sister tonight.
I wish you didn’t make me feel like this unintentionally when you’ve done nothing wrong.
I wish I could sober up so that I can tuck you back into that damn boss box and this time lock the fucking door and throw away the key.
But I just press the straw to my lips and take another sip, praying he can’t see how much I’m unraveling beneath the surface.
