Page 89 of That Moment
What the hell is he talking about, the other guy? How did he?
Before I can catch my breath, Dolly’s voice rings out as she and Decker approach the table.
“Adrienne!” she beams, pulling me into a hug. Dolly squeezes me tight before I can even stand, her sunshine energy buzzing in sharp contrast to the hollow ache still churning in my chest.
“You look amazing,” she gushes, stepping back, her eyes bright. “God, I’ve been dying to see you. I think I may have just solved all your problems.”
I blink at her, forcing a smile. “My problems?”
Decker slides onto the bench beside Trent, already reaching for the basket of pretzels, completely unfazed by Dolly’s theatrics. She ignores him, dropping into the seat across from me and leaning in conspiratorially.
“I told Scotty,” she says, grinning like she just delivered the world’s best news.
My stomach drops. “Told him what?”
She wiggles her brows, lowering her voice but still bubbling with excitement. “About you dancing with that guy at the bar. And how he gave you his number.”
My pulse rushes in my ears. “You what?”
Dolly beams, oblivious to the panic I can feel taking over my face. “Don’t look at me like that! It’s perfect. Now he knows there are other men noticing you, and you know Scotty—he’ll get all territorial and finally make a real move. You’re welcome.”
I just stare at her, heart hammering, hands curling tight into fists under the table. “Dolly…” My voice comes out strangled. “Why would you do that?”
She waves a hand like I’m being dramatic. “Because, sweetie, you two have been circling each other forever, and sometimes a man needs a little push. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Can you say jealous?”
My stomach lurches. I want to scream, to shake her, to make her understand that this isn’t a game. Scotty isn’t the kind of man you poke into jealousy. He’s not a boy who claims you because someone else might. If that worked, I would have gotten him a long time ago.
“You don’t get it,” I manage, but before I can say more, Tyler and Trent reappear with a tray of drinks, laughing about something ridiculous Drake apparently said on his way out.
Dolly is instantly swept into their chatter, her smile radiant, her words fast as she jumps into the conversation without missing a beat. She’s like the human equivalent of a daisy, bright, happy to be here, and ready to brighten anyone's day.
Meanwhile, I sit there in silence, forcing a smile I don’t feel, my pulse roaring in my ears. Across the room, I catch sight of Scotty as he walks back toward our table. He doesn’t look at me. Not once. His shoulders are rigid, his jaw tight, like every muscle in his body is tense.
There’s one I do know… Dolly’s “help” feels less like matchmaking and more like a wrecking ball.
Scotty’s the first to leave. He’s barely even at the table a minute before he exits. He doesn’t bother with excuses, doesn’t even look at me. He only offers a clipped nod to the group, and then he’s gone, shoulders tense as he heads for the door.
I sit there, pulse hammering, Dolly’s confession still twisting in my gut. My chest feels tight, my breath is thin, and before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet. “Restroom,” I murmur to no one in particular, already slipping away.
The second I’m around the corner, I run toward the front entrance in hopes of catching him. The cool night air slaps my cheeks when I push through the door. The tasting room’s hum goes quiet behind the door, replaced by the soft chorus of crickets and the crunch of gravel under my heels as I scan the parking lot.
Then I see him. Half in shadow, already unlocking his truck in a hurry like he’s determined to get away before I can catch him.
“Scotty, wait!”
The words tear out of me, breathless as I attempt to run across gravel in heels. He pauses, one hand on the door handle, but doesn’t turn. I cross the distance fast, my pulse racing so hard I can barely think.
“Stop. Just, please, stop for a second.”
Slowly, he pivots, his broad frame silhouetted in the glow of the parking lot lights. His expression is cold, his eyes unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.
I grab his arm before I can lose my nerve. “Dolly told you about the guy at the bar. She told me.”
His silence is answer enough.
I shake my head, my words tumbling too fast, too raw. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t ask for his number. I didn’t call him, I didn’t text him. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him. I was drunk, and he shoved it into my hand, and Dolly, God, Dolly thought it was funny. We all did. That’s all it was.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I swear I see something flicker in his eyes. I can’t tell if it’s jealousy or hurt or both. But then he gives a slow shrug, casual in a way that cuts deeper than if he’d shouted.
