Brit, how’s it going?” I ask feebly, backing up.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brit exclaims. “You’ve got some nerve, showing up here after what you did.”
I blink, confused. What I did?
Brit takes another step forward, getting up in my face, but before I can say a word, Lacey steps in front of me.
“Woah there!” Lacey says. “Why don’t you back the fuck off?”
Brit’s mouth drops open.
“We’re just here for the party,” Lacey tells her, glaring. “So why don’t you run on back to lover-boy before he finds some other skank to fool around with.”
She points to where Brit’s guy is hitting on some blonde girl, his eyes fixed to her chest while she pouts and twists her hair.
Brit’s eyes flash with rage, and I can see her struggle between giving me a public takedown versus taking care of her own business. In the end, her guy wins.
“Just stay away from Emerson, you hear me.” She points threateningly at me. Again, Lacey moves to block Brit’s rage.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart. Go on, scoot.”
With a final glare, Brit stalks away.
I slowly exhale.
“Wow,” Lacey turns back to me, grinning. “All these years, you’ve been so good and quiet… turns out, you kept all the drama right here.”
“She didn’t used to be like that,” I protest quickly. “She was a cool kid. Into fashion design, and ponies.”
“Yeah, well that’s not the kind of riding she does anymore.” Lacey snorts. Over by the water, Brit is yelling at the long-haired guy while the blonde smartly slips away.
I turn back, still confused by Brit’s venom, but glad a public showdown has been avoided. “Thanks,” I tell Lacey. “For stepping in back there.”
“I’ve always got your back.” Lacey promises. “And now it’s your turn to return the favor—as my wing-woman.” She nods over to the bar area, where a cluster of cute guys are waiting in line.
I laugh, relieved. This at least I’ve got practice in. “Lead the way, lady.”
We fill our plates with food, and then head on over to the bar. Lacey works her usual magic, fluttering her eyelashes and pressing in close, and like magic, a space opens up for us in the packed scrum.
“You didn’t tell me this town was so full of cute,” Lacey drawls, checking out the scene. “But I guess you were otherwise occupied.”
“Uh huh,” I murmur, distracted. I anxiously sweep the crowd, looking for Emerson’s familiar powerful build.
“Earth to Juliet!” Lacey snaps her fingers. I turn back. “Come on,” she demands, “help me get the bartender’s attention, this place is swamped.”
I obediently try to find the guy in charge of the mayhem.
Then I feel it.
Something makes my skin prickle, and suddenly, I feel a wash of nervous exhilaration flood through my system.
Emerson.
I don’t even turn right away, but I know he’s here, somewhere. I can’t explain it, but it’s like my body has a special radar, just for him. I would know him in a hurricane, in a snow-storm, if I was deaf and blind. My body knows him by heart.
Slowly, I turn around.
There he is, over on the other side of the makeshift dance-floor. He’s staring at me with a dark, unreadable expression, wearing black jeans, and a faded grey T-shirt that hugs every muscle and sinew of his tanned torso. There’s a girl beside him, some stacked brunette with a tiny sundress on, chatting away, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
The world shrinks again, to just the look in his eyes, and the sound of my heartbeat.
I stifle a whimper, caught in his gaze.
“Boom, victory.” Lacey lines up a row of tequila shots. She hasn’t noticed me staring across the crowd, too busy setting out the lime and salt. “Babe? Seriously, get in the game already.”
I drag my eyes away from him, and grab the first shot glass. I down it in one, gagging at the sharp bitterness, then grab a wedge of lime to suck on.
“That’s my girl!” Lacey cheers. “What should we cheer to?”
I look
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brit exclaims. “You’ve got some nerve, showing up here after what you did.”
I blink, confused. What I did?
Brit takes another step forward, getting up in my face, but before I can say a word, Lacey steps in front of me.
“Woah there!” Lacey says. “Why don’t you back the fuck off?”
Brit’s mouth drops open.
“We’re just here for the party,” Lacey tells her, glaring. “So why don’t you run on back to lover-boy before he finds some other skank to fool around with.”
She points to where Brit’s guy is hitting on some blonde girl, his eyes fixed to her chest while she pouts and twists her hair.
Brit’s eyes flash with rage, and I can see her struggle between giving me a public takedown versus taking care of her own business. In the end, her guy wins.
“Just stay away from Emerson, you hear me.” She points threateningly at me. Again, Lacey moves to block Brit’s rage.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart. Go on, scoot.”
With a final glare, Brit stalks away.
I slowly exhale.
“Wow,” Lacey turns back to me, grinning. “All these years, you’ve been so good and quiet… turns out, you kept all the drama right here.”
“She didn’t used to be like that,” I protest quickly. “She was a cool kid. Into fashion design, and ponies.”
“Yeah, well that’s not the kind of riding she does anymore.” Lacey snorts. Over by the water, Brit is yelling at the long-haired guy while the blonde smartly slips away.
I turn back, still confused by Brit’s venom, but glad a public showdown has been avoided. “Thanks,” I tell Lacey. “For stepping in back there.”
“I’ve always got your back.” Lacey promises. “And now it’s your turn to return the favor—as my wing-woman.” She nods over to the bar area, where a cluster of cute guys are waiting in line.
I laugh, relieved. This at least I’ve got practice in. “Lead the way, lady.”
We fill our plates with food, and then head on over to the bar. Lacey works her usual magic, fluttering her eyelashes and pressing in close, and like magic, a space opens up for us in the packed scrum.
“You didn’t tell me this town was so full of cute,” Lacey drawls, checking out the scene. “But I guess you were otherwise occupied.”
“Uh huh,” I murmur, distracted. I anxiously sweep the crowd, looking for Emerson’s familiar powerful build.
“Earth to Juliet!” Lacey snaps her fingers. I turn back. “Come on,” she demands, “help me get the bartender’s attention, this place is swamped.”
I obediently try to find the guy in charge of the mayhem.
Then I feel it.
Something makes my skin prickle, and suddenly, I feel a wash of nervous exhilaration flood through my system.
Emerson.
I don’t even turn right away, but I know he’s here, somewhere. I can’t explain it, but it’s like my body has a special radar, just for him. I would know him in a hurricane, in a snow-storm, if I was deaf and blind. My body knows him by heart.
Slowly, I turn around.
There he is, over on the other side of the makeshift dance-floor. He’s staring at me with a dark, unreadable expression, wearing black jeans, and a faded grey T-shirt that hugs every muscle and sinew of his tanned torso. There’s a girl beside him, some stacked brunette with a tiny sundress on, chatting away, but his eyes don’t leave mine.
The world shrinks again, to just the look in his eyes, and the sound of my heartbeat.
I stifle a whimper, caught in his gaze.
“Boom, victory.” Lacey lines up a row of tequila shots. She hasn’t noticed me staring across the crowd, too busy setting out the lime and salt. “Babe? Seriously, get in the game already.”
I drag my eyes away from him, and grab the first shot glass. I down it in one, gagging at the sharp bitterness, then grab a wedge of lime to suck on.
“That’s my girl!” Lacey cheers. “What should we cheer to?”
I look
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