Read Online Winter Blues by Jade Goodmore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jade Goodmore
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permanently settled on my face. “Now, in the mean time. Keep. These. Coming.” I hold up the now empty shot glass. Veda smiles again, her elfin features aren’t completely convinced though. I see a little hesitance as she pours me another.
As I recover from the nastiness of the tequila, Blue saunters into the bar from a door on the back wall. He finds me straight away, his brow creasing. Our eyes meet and I immediately feel like crying. I don’t of course, because I’m not that emotionally accessible, but confronted with them dangerous eyes brings my failings flooding back.
My plan to avoid Blue has lasted no more than several hours. I have sought him out immediately after being let down by Reid. Is this how it’s going to be? Am I going to come crawling to Blue every time that I’m disappointed by Reid? Will it eventually drive me to tarnish our marriage? No, no. The thought fills me with a sickness that far outweighs the burning nausea of the tequila.
It will never come to that.
“Ya’ know, if you’re going to do tequila at least do it properly,” Blue says as he slides a bowl of limes and a salt shaker in front of me. He reaches for another glass and fills both of them up, holding the salt out expectantly. I say nothing, but lick the back of my hand and offer it to him. He does the same on his own and I have to briefly look away at the appearance of his long tongue. He douses our wet skin with salt and raises his glass to me.
“To tequila, fixer of everything. ”
We clink glasses, lick the salt, down the shots and bite the lime. And that’s pretty much how the next hour goes.
Blue doesn’t ask me what’s wrong and he doesn’t try to curtail my drinking, in fact, he matches me shot for shot. He gives me free reign over the jukebox, cheering or moaning in response to my choices. I notice his moans come whenever anything country is chosen so I childishly play the entire compilation album.
The bar is eerily quiet. Apparently Wednesdays are decidedly dead here, and by eleven it’s completely empty except for me and Zach, who’s chatting quietly with Veda. Blue has flipped the closed sign on the front door, allowing my drunken pity party to play out without an audience. Thank God.
I’m heading toward the bathroom, working hard to walk straight, when the twanging opening of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl pulls me to the dance floor. I hear Blue’s bellowing laugh from across the bar and before I know it, his hand has found mine. He spins me around and attempts every clichéd country dance move he can. I don’t think either of us pulls off anything to be proud of, since he is as equally smashed as me, but we both bow after our performance. I’m laughing for the first time tonight when I am tugged into Blue’s arms. He’s laughing too and the shared chuckling feels cathartic. I physically feel myself loosen up, melting limply into Blue’s embrace and breathing in his spicy fragrance as if it is the freshest of cool, mountain air.
Before I know it, my head is on his shoulder and his hands are around my waist. He’s so comfortable. I wonder if it’s possible to fall asleep standing up. I’m more than willing to try. It’s only when I close my eyes that I become aware of the new song accompanying our embrace, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, I Need You .
With one recognition comes another, we are dancing. Blue’s hand is cupped lightly around mine and he’s brought them to our touching chests. His other hand is descending down my back, over the bare skin until it meets the low material of my dress. It took me a while to have the courage to take my coat off, knowing how overdressed I was, but after the sixth tequila my dress was the least of my worries. And now, Blue is showing me the appreciation that I had hoped for when choosing to wear it, albeit from Reid.
“This dress is fucking hot, Pilgrim,” he croons. His words aren’t the poetic compliment I’d longed for when putting it on, but the
As I recover from the nastiness of the tequila, Blue saunters into the bar from a door on the back wall. He finds me straight away, his brow creasing. Our eyes meet and I immediately feel like crying. I don’t of course, because I’m not that emotionally accessible, but confronted with them dangerous eyes brings my failings flooding back.
My plan to avoid Blue has lasted no more than several hours. I have sought him out immediately after being let down by Reid. Is this how it’s going to be? Am I going to come crawling to Blue every time that I’m disappointed by Reid? Will it eventually drive me to tarnish our marriage? No, no. The thought fills me with a sickness that far outweighs the burning nausea of the tequila.
It will never come to that.
“Ya’ know, if you’re going to do tequila at least do it properly,” Blue says as he slides a bowl of limes and a salt shaker in front of me. He reaches for another glass and fills both of them up, holding the salt out expectantly. I say nothing, but lick the back of my hand and offer it to him. He does the same on his own and I have to briefly look away at the appearance of his long tongue. He douses our wet skin with salt and raises his glass to me.
“To tequila, fixer of everything. ”
We clink glasses, lick the salt, down the shots and bite the lime. And that’s pretty much how the next hour goes.
Blue doesn’t ask me what’s wrong and he doesn’t try to curtail my drinking, in fact, he matches me shot for shot. He gives me free reign over the jukebox, cheering or moaning in response to my choices. I notice his moans come whenever anything country is chosen so I childishly play the entire compilation album.
The bar is eerily quiet. Apparently Wednesdays are decidedly dead here, and by eleven it’s completely empty except for me and Zach, who’s chatting quietly with Veda. Blue has flipped the closed sign on the front door, allowing my drunken pity party to play out without an audience. Thank God.
I’m heading toward the bathroom, working hard to walk straight, when the twanging opening of Luke Bryan’s Country Girl pulls me to the dance floor. I hear Blue’s bellowing laugh from across the bar and before I know it, his hand has found mine. He spins me around and attempts every clichéd country dance move he can. I don’t think either of us pulls off anything to be proud of, since he is as equally smashed as me, but we both bow after our performance. I’m laughing for the first time tonight when I am tugged into Blue’s arms. He’s laughing too and the shared chuckling feels cathartic. I physically feel myself loosen up, melting limply into Blue’s embrace and breathing in his spicy fragrance as if it is the freshest of cool, mountain air.
Before I know it, my head is on his shoulder and his hands are around my waist. He’s so comfortable. I wonder if it’s possible to fall asleep standing up. I’m more than willing to try. It’s only when I close my eyes that I become aware of the new song accompanying our embrace, Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, I Need You .
With one recognition comes another, we are dancing. Blue’s hand is cupped lightly around mine and he’s brought them to our touching chests. His other hand is descending down my back, over the bare skin until it meets the low material of my dress. It took me a while to have the courage to take my coat off, knowing how overdressed I was, but after the sixth tequila my dress was the least of my worries. And now, Blue is showing me the appreciation that I had hoped for when choosing to wear it, albeit from Reid.
“This dress is fucking hot, Pilgrim,” he croons. His words aren’t the poetic compliment I’d longed for when putting it on, but the
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