Page 45 of Whiskey Chase
“Would you get all dressed up? Eat tiny foods and make small talk?” she asked.
I nodded. It was part and parcel of the lifestyle. I wanted to advance my career, and that’s how it was done. Sure, it meant a dinner was never just a dinner. And it meant that the work week was never only forty hours long. But public service wasn’t an eight-to-five job. It was a calling. Johanna and I, I’d thought, had thrived on the expectations. Rehashing who we’d said what to on the ride home.
And here I was in Bootleg Springs, West Virginia, in jeans with a beer and a beautiful woman looking at me like I was the most interesting man in the bar. There was peanut dust on my loafers, and a country band priming the crowd.
I liked it.
“Is this what you do most Friday nights?” I asked her. At times, I was struck by how little we knew of each other. At other times, I felt like Scarlett Bodine was an old obsession. I was so aware of everything she did, every expression she made, every emotion that passed behind her eyes.
She nodded. “This or sometimes Jameson and me order somethin’ bad from every restaurant in town and have a pig-in.”
“A pig-in?”
“Yeah, when you eat too much in your own house so no one sees your shame.”
I laughed, and she grinned at me like there was nothing I could have done that would please her more. I hoped I had a few moves that would.
18
Devlin
Gibson broke into another song, the opening bars of which had The Lookout patrons mobbing up the dance floor. The guy could sing. I’d give him that.
The song was “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy,” a country song even I’d heard in passing. And while Gibson sang, I watched his little sister shake her sweet ass on the dance floor. She and Cassidy danced in the middle of a crowd of women who knew every single word to the song. I tried to imagine the last reception or fundraiser I’d been to. Nothing stood out in high-definition like this.
Bowie sat next to me, staring wistfully at the dance floor.
“Don’t you dance?” I asked.
“Huh?” he dragged his eyes away from the dancers.
“Do you dance?” I asked again.
“Oh, sure. We all do.” His gaze skated back in Cassidy’s direction. “Gym class always included a dance class: line dancing, square dancing, ballroom.”
“Then why aren’t you out there?”
“The view’s better from here.”
I had to agree with him. Scarlett had ditched the cardigan and had her toned arms raised to the ceiling. She twirled around, her hair catching the air and floating behind her.
“Jesus, you guys are pathetic,” Jameson muttered.
“Huh?” Bowie and I said together.
“It appears they’re both sexually frustrated,” June said, a scientist observing bacteria under a microscope.
Bowie and I glanced at each other and then looked away quickly.
“You ever date, Juney?” Bowie asked.
She frowned. “Of course. When I find someone who is smart enough not to complicate things with unreasonable expectations and demands.”
“Unreasonable?” Jameson guessed.
“Someone who thinks it’s okay to schedule dates on the weekends during football season.”
“You make a good point,” Bowie said.
