Page 43 of Whiskey Chase
“Hi, Scarlett.” I heard a small crash in the background and some quiet swearing. “I mean, hey. What’s up?” he said casually.
Devlin had a crush on me. And that warmed my West Virginia heart.
“What are y’all doing tonight?” I asked.
17
Devlin
The Lookout was more crowded this time than the last. Generations of Bootleggers cozied up around the bar or held down tables on the main floor space. There were pool tables in the back with the requisite neon beer signs. And peanut shells and dust all over the floor. When I’d asked about it, I was told that no one in Bootleg had peanut allergies. The locals credited the hot springs and their mystical healing powers with the town’s lack of life-threatening allergies.
“Hey, Dev,” Millie Waggle called out from a table of women in a mix of flannel and spring dresses. “Where’s your roommate?”
I waved. They all waved back, smiles curving their lips.
“Jonah’s visiting with friends in Virginia,” I told them despite the fact that it was none of their business.
I started toward the long L-shaped bar even though I’d already decided I would not be overindulging tonight. My moonshine and softball hangover from earlier in the week was enough to convince me to spend the rest of the week apologizing to my body with a series of grilled meats, salads, and workouts. I now knew I suffered from the week-long, feel-like-I-have-the-flu hangovers that all adults came to experience.
But I needed something to do with my hands. A drink would be the most believable prop to hide my nerves.
Tonight, I was on a mission. Scarlett Bodine was coming home with me, or I was going home with her. One way or another, we were going to end up naked together. And in order to make that happen, I couldn’t be the anxiety-ridden hopeful romantic that I currently felt like.
“Devlin,” Rhett, Misty Lynn’s current burly boy toy, nodded as I passed him.
“Evening, Rhett,” I said, slipping past him. It was odd that I was a stranger here, yet I knew more people in Bootleg than I did in Annapolis. That was the small town for you, I supposed. Everyone knew you and your business. I wondered if they all knew my recent history. And if they did, would they advise Scarlett to stay away from me?
She’d invited me here, mentioning that Gibson was playing and I should come. Shit. What if she only invited me to be polite? Or what if it was a group hangout kind of thing, and I’d manscaped for no reason? I mentally prepared myself for that humiliation. At least me and my razor were the only ones who’d know my shame.
I hated the fact that those thoughts crossed my mind. Six months ago, I felt secure in my existence. Thanks to breeding and regular reinforcement, I had the confidence of knowing I was important.
The prenup had protected my accounts, but it hadn’t done a damn thing for my ego. I’d taken more than a ding with this divorce. But a night with the beautiful Scarlett? I couldn’t think of anything that would make a man feel better than that.
And more than that, I wanted to give her something Wade Zirkel never could. I didn’t want to just be a familiar set of arms. I wanted to make this special for her. I wanted to give us both something to remember fondly for the rest of our lives.
The only thing standing between me and that eventuality was the distance between my feet and the bar.
I spotted her. She was talking to two older men at the bar. She was in that short denim skirt, a scooped Bootleg Cock Spurs tank, and a cute little cardigan over it. Her hair was down in thick waves, and she was wearing the cowboy boots from the first time we’d met.
It was official. She was the sexiest woman I’d ever seen in my entire life. Who knew my type would be country cowgirl rather than sleek sophisticate? But there was no fighting it.
I took a deep breath and threaded my way through people laughing around tiny tables.
She spotted me halfway there, and the way her face lit up made the tightness in my chest loosen.
“Hi,” I said.Way to be smooth, jackass.
“Hi,” she said, bringing her straw to her lips.
Was it too early to ask her to go home with me?“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.
She held up her still full glass and wiggled it. “I’m good. But let me buy one for you.” She turned back to the bar, and I skimmed my hand over her hair. “Nicolette! Whatever this tall drink of water wants.”
The bartender, Nicolette, was a short brunette who had waited on me and the Bodines last time we were here. Tonight she was wearing an If You Don’t Like Tacos, I’m Nacho Type t-shirt. She cocked her head at me. “What’ll it be, Devlin?”
“Just a beer,” I said. One beer wouldn’t get me in trouble with Scarlett’s consent concerns.
“What are you drinking?” I asked, leaning into Scarlett’s ear so she could hear me. She smelled like sunshine and a field of daisies.
