Page 10 of Playing Dirty
We swayed in silence for a while, the room dimming at the edges until it was just her and me and the sound of a bluegrass band crying through the speakers.
“You look different,” I said.
“Gee, thanks.”
“No—I mean… like someone else’s version of you.”
She tensed, like I’d touched a wound. “I’m fine, Rhett.”
I let that hang there, then murmured, “You happy, Cal?”
She didn’t answer. Just kept looking over my shoulder like something important was back there.
“You used to scream like hell at my football games,” I said, softer now. “Used to wear those ripped jeans and dare anyone to underestimate you.”
“That was a long time ago,” she said, her voice tight.
“You’re still that girl,” I told her. “You just forgot.”
Her gaze finally met mine. Not soft, not hard. Just real.
“I don’t hate you, Rhett,” she said. “I just don’t know what to do with you.”
I smiled, slow and sure. “Good. Means you’re still thinking about me.”
She rolled her eyes again, but this time, her lips twitched like they were fighting a grin.
Just then, the lights dimmed, a sign of an impending power outage.
She looked up. “Uh-oh.”
“First winter storm,” I said.
But I wasn’t thinking about the weather.
Not at all.
Soon, the bartender flicked the lights twice—an unspoken cue that fun was over and the grown folks needed to take their flirtin’ and drinkin’ elsewhere.
“Storm’s picking up,” the owner called from behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’re shuttin’ it down early. Roads’ll be slick before long.”
Outside the wide front window, snow drifted in lazy spirals under the streetlights. What had started as a few scattered flakes was now a quiet, steady fall, building in corners and coating the windshields like powdered sugar.
Sawyer and Lilly were already bundling up near the door, laughing about something I couldn’t hear as they stepped outside. I watched out the window as Lilly reached up and brushed snow off his shoulder, and he leaned in with that cocky glint he always got when a woman gave him the time of day. Hell, maybe he’d found his next mission.
Callie slid out of her seat. “Gonna hit the restroom before I head out. Long drive.”
She paused at the table, drained the last of her wine without meeting my eyes. “Matt’s out of town,” she said suddenly, like she’d ripped off a bandage.
I didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” I said. “Figured.”
Her shoulders sagged like I’d taken something off her, or maybe just confirmed that she already knew I’d seem more than she wanted me to.
“He’ll be back in a couple days.”
“Sure he will,” I murmured, letting the words sit between us.
She finally looked at me. “Don’t start.”
