Page 14 of The Sweet Spot
“Or, rather I tried to,” she says. “Turns out this woman’s afraid of heights and hadn’t bothered to tell us. When she was about ten feet off the ground, she totally panicked and practically threw herself off the wall. If Travis hadn’t been belaying her, she could have hit the ground and broken her neck.” Maya raises her glass toward the guys’ table. “Kudos to Travis, the tourist wrangler!” she calls out loud enough to be heard over the music.
Upon hearing his name, Travis turns his attention our way. I doubt he heard exactly what Maya said, but he raises his glass anyway.
The night progresses like it always does, with lots of conversation and laughter. We play pool and throw darts. We’re on our second pitcher of beer when the door opens and two women walk in. I’m facing the entrance, so of course I spot them immediately. It’s not hard to recognize Aria, the curvy brunette who was flirting with Chris at the diner the other day and her red-haired friend.
As soon as the two women walk into the tavern, they scan the interior. They start walking toward the bar, but as they pass the guys’ table, Aria stops short as she notices Chris.
“Sheriff!” Aria says loudly enough we can hear her from our table. “What a surprise, running into you again.”
Chris nods to her. He says something, but I can’t hear what.
“Oh, my God, that’s her!” Maya says as she nods toward Aria. “The lady who’s afraid of heights.” Her dark eyes narrow as she observes Aria fawning over Chris. “What the hell is she doing?”
Aria says something to Chris. He smiles politely and shakes his head.
“Probably asking him to dance,” I say, trying not to sound petty and snarky.
“No way,” Maya says. “Chris has better taste than that. She’s such a drama queen.”
When it’s clear Aria bombed with Chris, she turns her attention to Travis.
Maya shoots out of her seat. “Oh, hell, no! She’s not getting her claws in that boy!” She stalks over to the guys’ table.
“This should be good,” Maggie says as she reaches for a mozzarella stick.
The rest of us watch to see what’s about to happen. There’s no telling with Maya. She’s a twenty-six-year-old Korean-American pistol with no filter. When she reaches their table, Maya grabs Travis’s collar and literally pulls him out of his seat. He’s laughing as she hauls him to the dance floor.
The remaining guys seated at the table—Owen, Micah, Killian, and John—quickly shut Aria and her friend down. They’re all happily taken.
With a frown on her pretty face, Aria and her friend head to the bar. Heaven help them if they try to flirt with Jack. Ruth will read them the riot act and kick them out of her tavern.
Owen walks up behind Maggie’s chair and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Do you feel up to a dance, babe?” he asks as he bends down to kiss her cheek.
Maggie pops the last of her cheese stick into her mouth, wipes her hands on a napkin, and rises. “I’d love to.”
A moment later, Killian and John approach our table to claim their partners for a dance. That leaves just me seated at the girls’ table. I glance over at the guys’ table to see Chris looking at me. He smiles as he rises and walks my way.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he says as he takes the empty seat beside mine.
“Did that woman ask you to dance?”
He nods.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘No, thank you, ma’am.’”
“Why didn’t you dance with her? I mean, she’s pretty. And she’s obviously into you.”
He shrugs. “She’s not my type.”
That doesn’t make much sense to me because, if I’m being honest, Aria is probably every man’s type. She’s gorgeous and curvy in all the right places. I want to ask him what his type is, but I don’t see how it’s any of my business. I lost that right a long time ago.
Chris nods toward the dance floor, where all of our friends are partnered up, swaying to a nice, sedate slow song. “We might as well join them.” He offers me his hand. “What do you say?”
I look at his hand—long fingers, clean blunt nails, no rings. There are sexy veins visible beneath his tanned skin and a light dusting of brown hair on his forearm. My belly quivers at the thought of those fingers touching me in a non-platonic way, those strong arms around me.
“Jennie?”
