Page 23 of His Ex's Little Sister
“Busy,” I answer in aclippedtone.
“Did your sunset pictures comeoutwell?”
I make it to the door of the ladies’ room and slow down just enough to turn and give him a nod. “They did. Thanks forasking.”
“Good. I’m glad you made it home allright.”
“I did. Well, I have to be on stage in a fewminutes,so…”
“Right. Have you given it anythought?”
I stare up at him, confused. “What are you talkingabout?”
He leans a hand on the door post, practically blocking out the light with his height. “You. Me. Dinner. Drinks.Maybemore.”
“That was a ‘no’ yesterday, and it’s still a ‘no’now.”
“Areyousure?”
Anger rises up from my chest, and soon my neck and face begin to feel hot. “Where do you get off? It wasn’t enough for you to do what you did to my sister. Now you want to add me to yourcasualtylist?”
“Calm down. I asked you out on a date,nothingmore.”
“And I said no. Twice. Look, I’ve got a performance to put on in a few minutes. You’re not helping my state of mind right now. How about you go have a meal or a drink with your friends, and let me do what I came heretodo?”
“I wouldn’t be here asking you if I didn’t think that maybe you wanted some answers ofyourown.”
“What doyoumean?”
Reid’s composure changes from open and playful to serious and formal. He straightens up and moves his hand from the door post, letting his arms hang at his sides. “You never got my side of the story, but you know what? Fine. Let’s leave the past where it belongs. Good luck onstage.”
I watch as he turns and all but stomps back to histable.
Interesting.
Butwhatever.
Getting inside the ladies’ room, I freshen up and iron out my nervous energy. Maybe I have him where I want him now. Ready to leave me alone and let things be, Above all, as long as he leaves Danielle alone, I’m happy. At the moment, even if he wanted to, he can’t get to her. She and my parents are at the tail end of a two-week road trip to Seattle and parts of Washington state in the family camper van. Maybe by the time they get back, Reid will have gotten used to seeing me around Whiskey Jacks, and his fixation on me and my familywillstop.
Although, I still have to take a bit of the blame for his curiosity. I opened up a can of worms with that song. Tonight, I need to keep the music light and cheerful—the opposite of what Reid invokesinme.
The problem is that even as I think of all the potentially upbeat songs on my playlist, every one of them can be misconstrued as relating to Reid and me. From Tim McGraw’sI like it, I love it, to George Strait’sBlue Clear Sky, and even Alan Jackson’sGoodTime.
I head back to the stage with the thought that I need some new material. Songs about rainbows and horses, or trucks and beer. Nothing about chasing tail, falling in love, heartbreak, or undeniableattraction.
Rusty introduces me to the audience, and I avert my eyes from Reid’s table, kicking off my four-song performance set with the neutral Ray Stevens classic,Everything is Beautiful. The relaxed crowd of patrons seems pretty satisfied with the oldie. I increase the tempo with Tim McGraw’sTruck Yeah, then wind down with Kip Moore’sSomethin’ ’Bout a Truckand Brad Paisley’sMud on theTires.
Nope.
Even songs about trucks, beer, and rainbows make me thinkofhim.
It’s no use, but I find some satisfaction in the fact that the couple of times my eyes wandered over to Reid, he was busy with the usual throng of female patrons slinking into the seat beside him to whisper in his ear, hang on his every word, or cop a feel of hisbiceps.
And not once did he meetmyeyes.
Apparently, I struck a nerveearlier.
Getting off the stage for my fifteen-minute break between sets, I avoid him by taking the long way around to the far end of the bar. But his unfriendly reaction is short-lived.
