Sara looks up from her phone when the door thuds closed, both brows rising as she notes the expression I’m currently wearing.
“What the heck do you have to smile for—going back into that hellhole and all?”
I wave her off. “Nothing. Just drive.”
As the car begins to move, I find the soppy sentimental feeling doesn’t ease away.
~XoXo~
“Wipe that joker-like expression off your face. Especially if you’re not gonna tell me what it’s about. Dudes ain’t gonna dance with you lookin’ like that,” Sara rolls her eyes.
“I’m not so sure about that. I think in this getup you styled me in, I could laugh like a hyena and act like a cuh-razy bitch and I’d still get a few dance offers from those few who are brave enough.”
“You’re probably right. You should have let me do your hair and make-up too.”
I take a quick glance at myself in the visor mirror. My make-up is natural but still intensifies my natural features. The only part that stands out are my lips, and they’re only a few shades darker than my natural color. My purple locks hang in loose curls, pinned up at the sides so that I’m practically sporting a half-up, half-down ‘do that leans toward the retro pin-up vibe.
I’m more than satisfied with the way I look tonight.
I cut my eyes over at Sara, taking note of the smoky eyeshadow, use of highlighting and contouring technique, and bright red lips that shimmer—candy apple red to be precise; just like the paint job she has a gold overlay that makes her look like a runway model. She’s certainly come a long way from that shy and insecure girl she was in high-school, but hey, I guess that’s why we pair off so well.
We both molted that insecure skin we used to have right about the same time. She can rock the Rockstar makeup, I’ll give her that, but while it might look great next to her brunette hair and easy-to-take-a-tan skin, someone with my wild hair-color and half-sleeve tattoo has to tone it down where necessary. I don’t want people thinking I’m desperate for attention. I just like a little splash of bold here and there.
“I think my hair and makeup are just fine, thank you very much.”
She gives a sharp nod. “Then, let’s go, ho.”
Opening my purse, I pluck out my phone, lip balm, a hair tie—just in case things get wild and sweaty, my deodorant, and body spray. Thank goodness it all fits in the spacious side of my clutch that’s opposite the wallet side.
I wince when I slam the door a bit too hard, still sulking about being forced to go out and about on a night I’d rather be tucked in my bed and sleeping. Luckily, Sara’s so hyped up to be out doing something other than working, she doesn’t even notice my irresponsible handling of her car. The vehicle chirps as she hits the lock button, and we ascend the front entrance of the bar side by side.
It’s Wednesday night, typically a dull and uneventful night anywhere else. Not here at Wiley’s Bar, though. The sign outside advertises: Wild Wednesday’s at Wiley’s in bright neon letters. Just below, it offers the hump-day special—half off on tap, and two dollars off mixed drinks for the ladies. To top it all off, there’s a DJ, and in the separate, covered porch out back, it’s Karaoke night.
I think it’s pretty considerate of them to put Karaoke night in a closed off space. Keeps everyone happy, especially those who don’t want to hear drunken, slurred flat notes. In small towns like Central Valley and here in Warren, the actual talented singers are slim to none.
As soon as we walk through the door, my eyes are darting around the place. Everything is packed. A long line leads from the bathroom. The dancefloor hardly has room to accommodate anyone else. The bar is nothing but a human centipede of bodies crammed together in search of beer—there’s literally nowhere to stand.
“We’re fucked,” Sara whines, apparently focusing on the same dilemma I’m currently stuck on.
“How are we going to get any booze now?” I wonder out loud, tucking my clutch under my arm.
We stand there for a minute or two, watching and waiting for the right opportunity to swoop in and implant ourselves into the mess of people at the bar. Unfortunately, the plan isn’t playing out in our favor. There are two bartenders tonight, when there should really be four; and from the looks of it, one of them is a total newbie. I’m thinking all hope is lost—seriously considering heading back out, hitting up the ABC store at the end of the street, and attempting to smuggle a bottle in my purse, when my attention is jolted elsewhere.
A sharp elbow to the ribs knocks me out of my contemplation. I turn to glare at Sara. “What the hell did you do that for?”
She jerks her head to the side, eyes trained on something at the bar. “Looks like you found our meal ticket.”
I follow her line of sight, eyes locking with one unconventionally hot piece of man meat. He’s dressed simply; blue jeans, white cotton tee, and dark brown timberlands. With gauged ears and bad-boy appeal, he’s not the guy you bring home to meet the family, but definitely the one you bring home to meet you between the sheets.
His jet-black hair is cut in a nice and neat fade, but the top is a tad bit longer, mussed up carelessly. Full sleeves of tattoos cover his taut and corded arms, one of which is propped on the bar lazily. Holy shit he’s something else.
My body suddenly grows feverish because Mr. Unconventional is spun around in his seat at the bar, his dark eyes watching me intently. Seeming to notice the effect he’s having on me, his full lips tip up in a cocky smirk. He tips his chin at me, and I spin to look behind me just to make sure there’s not some supermodel standing there instead. It’d be embarrassing to get lost in translation just because I’m standing in the wrong place at the right time.
When I realize there’s no one else he could be possibly motioning over, my stomach fills with excitement.
“Meal ticket,” I agree through clenched teeth in case he can read lips. I don’t know why I do it, knowing it’s rude and all, but I cup my hand to my lips and whisper conspiratorially, “Did I mention I haven’t been sexed up in over a year?”
We both break out in girlish laughter, and I force myself to head his way for an introduction, pulling Sara along with me.
I go for the confident and direct approach.
“Lyra.” I offer him my hand.
“Never heard that one before.” His grin widens. “Sexy.” His fingers land at my wrist, sliding down my palm until he clutches my hand to shake—only he just holds my hand. It seems like it would be awkward, but it comes off sexy instead.
“Ransom.”
I cock my head to the side, not sure I understood him right. “Come again?”
“If that’s what you want…and again, and again.”
My eyes widen in surprise, “Uh…” I sputter, freezing up because this dude is on another level. And I’m apparently way out of practice.
“Chill, Babe. Ransom’s the name.”
Oh. Duh. Okay, so definitely a bad boy with a name like that, and if it’s his real one, his parents pretty much guaranteed him a spot on the local PD’s roster for people to keep an eye on. Still hot though.
“Nice to meet you, Ransom.” I say the name slowly, enjoying the way it rolls off my tongue. My eyes slide down to our conjoined hands, but I don’t mention the fact he hasn’t let me go yet.
Maybe I like it more than I should.
A throat clears, reminding me I’m here with a friend, and just one minute with Ransom and I’ve already forgotten about her. I wonder if one night with him could make me forget every guy from my past—namely my ex, and most hopefully Nash.
Arching an eyebrow, Sara waves her hand through the air. “And I’m Sara.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Think you could help us get some booze?”
He side-eyes her, but doesn’t answer. Releasing my hand, he turns on his barstool and stands, leaning forward over the counter. “Yo, Mav.” Holding up a finger, he grabs the attention of one of the bartenders close by. The dude finishes off the drink he’s making, slides it across the
bar, and skips over everyone else to make his way over to Ransom.
“Cuz, get these two a drink for me.”
Mav looks to us expectantly. The lackluster expression on his face tells me not to take my time in deciding. He’s in the zone, ready to work and not in the mood for bullshitting around. “I’ll take whatever’s on tap—light.”
Sara tips her head back, scowling at me in disgust.
“Beer’s beer.” I shrug. It’s mostly true, in that it all tastes like ass. I happened to notice Busch was on tap tonight, so I think I’ll be fine.
Still scrunching up her face, she shakes her head. “Yeah, no thanks.” She directs her attention to the bartender, batting her lashes like it’ll get her something extra. “I’ll take a Pina Colada.”
He nods, pouring my beer and handing it over before working on Sara’s more in-depth concoction.
“Ladies, this is my cousin Maverick by the way…” Ransom introduces us, but Maverick simply tips his head in our direction, not seeming to care about shit else other than doing his job.
I take a sip as we wait, thankful he at least had the civility to put the luke-warm beverage in a frosted mug and in a minute later, both orders are filled. I pull out my card to pay, pushing it toward the man at the bar, but Ransom lays his hand over mine to stop me, sliding the card back to me in process. Maverick walks away to help someone else with no further acknowledgment.
“It’s taken care of.”
“Wow, thanks,” Sara and I both say in surprised unison.
Ransom gives a curt not, glancing to the drunk and rowdy duo of men occupying the seats to his left. His eyes narrow.
“Hey, fucksticks. You have your beer, now get gone. There are ladies standing here without seats.”
The larger of the two men, turns angrily, but as soon as his eyes land on Ransom, they widen, his skin blanching. He grips the handle of his mug, his opposite hand rising as if to throw in the towel on a disagreement that’s not even started. Whispering something to his pal, he scoots off the seat, and they both take off, mumbling barely decipherable apologies as they pass by.
Who is this guy? And was that fear, or respect, I just saw those men give?
“Ladies,” Ransom cocks his head in the direction of the now empty seats, “they’re all yours.”
Chapter Ten
A half-hour later, Ransom and I make our way to the packed dancefloor. I haven’t had the chance to just dance and let loose in forever; after the big break-up with Marcus, I’ve not been much of one for public activities, yet here I am, dancing with a guy I normally wouldn’t have picked out for myself.
I’m making it my mission, right here and now, not to be so picky in the future. Ransom is Mr. Bad Boy, the one your parents warn you about. So what? I’ve had the pick-of-the-litter, career-driven, snake-in-the-grass with a nice pedigree on paper.
And we all know that didn’t turn out so well…so, maybe you can’t judge a book by its cover? Or toss someone to the side just because they look like they’ll cause all kinds of trouble?
I raise my hands in the air overhead, rolling my hips when his hands settle at my waist. He never steps out of line, keeping his hands right where he plants them. I’m used to guys thinking that dancing with them gives them permission to free-roam your body, touching and squeezing wherever they feel like. Which is usually right about the point I stop dancing for the night.
Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about it.
After several songs we head back to our spot at the bar where Sara is still waiting. Honestly, I think she’s set her sights on Maverick, the bartender, and is hoping for a chance to chat him up despite the fact he’s slammed and they’re understaffed as it is.
But when we near the stools, I find there’s someone else sitting beside her.
She throws her head back in uncontrollable laughter, making me smile. That is, until I cut my eyes over to the side, making note of who is sitting there with her. My teeth grate together so hard, I can hear the squeaking as it vibrates my skull.
I step right up to them, clearing my throat. Sara turns to me, her eyes still sparkling with amusement from whatever moronic thing he must have said. Nash glances at me with a stoic and somewhat bored expression overtaking his face.
“Look who else showed up tonight,” Sara grins, and I know she doesn’t even have a clue as to the complexity of my feelings for him—I’ve never told anyone save for Valley—but I still want to scratch that grin right off her face until it warps into a frown.
She’s your friend, chill out.
Taking a steadying breath, I tip my head to him in greeting, and he does the same.
“You were just at the diner. How’d you get from there to here?” I ask in disdain, eyeing him warily now.
“Fairly easily. I hopped in my car and drove.” His lips twist in amusement.
I narrow my eyes, planting my hand firmly on my hip to exude some sass. “Why’d you choose this one?”
“I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” He folds his arms over his chest, sending me a look of challenge. “There’s a little get-together going on with some old friends. We all met up for a quick bite to eat before heading over here. Actually, I headed this way a little early while everyone was still talking and catching up.”
Before I have a chance to ask who exactly he means by old friends, I’m interrupted.
“Apparently, Maverick won’t be getting a break tonight, so Nash here volunteered to take me out for a turn on the dance floor. We were waiting on you two to get back before just running off. I was afraid if I moved, someone would snag our seats.”
Red. All I see is red. I may even start growing literal claws, but I somehow manage a tight-lipped smile.
Ransom steps to my side, waving her off. “Nah, don’t need to worry ‘bout that. These spots are reserved. The only way someone sits here, is if they get permission first…and even then, they never extend their welcome.”
“And why’s that?” I eye him curiously.
His lips tip up as he turns to me.
“Because these are my seats.” With a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, he delivers the statement like it sums up everything. It may even hold the meaning to life.
Perhaps most everyone else here—most of them live in this town as it is—understands some unwritten rule the three of us Central Valley citizens aren’t aware of.
Is he like the Nash of Warren, royalty status or whatever? Or is he just some criminal people are scared of? I study him more closely, the tattoos covering his muscular arms, the lip ring and—thankfully not all that huge—gauges in both ears. His clothes might be casual, but they’re in pristine condition. And I of all people know that just because someone is covered in tats, doesn’t mean their a convicted felon. My verdict? He might appear a little rough around the edges, but he seems harmless enough…
“So, you’re like the big man around here?” I quip, my lips quirking up in a playful smirk.
“Let’s all head to the dance floor,” Nash grunts, breaking up the flirty moment Ransom and I are having, with timing so perfect, I’d almost think it was done on purpose. Except, I know he has a fiancée—seeing as I just met her only days ago—wherever she may be, so that errant idea is shot to shit.
Ransom nods in Nash’s direction, but looks to me for an idea of what I feel like doing. I shrug. “Why the hell not?”
As we head right back out again, Sara leans close, whispering.
“Are you okay with this. I feel so stupid. I totally wasn’t thinking when Nash came up and started talking to me. I just opened my big mouth and offered for him to join us while he waits on the rest of his friends. Is it going to be a problem, him dancing with our little group, with the whole…” she struggles to find the right word, “differences you two have thing?”
I scoff, feigning indifference. I can’t really chew her out for being inconsiderate of my feelings when she has no idea about them. I don’t even know what my feelings are
at this point. I’m all over the board, being childish, immature and totally on par with a teenager full of raging hormones.
“This isn’t high-school. What happened was forever ago. If he’s cool being around me, I’m okay being around him. As long as it’s not for too long. Don’t worry about it,” I shrug nonchalantly. “Plus, I want you to have fun too.”
And I do. That’s the truth.
She beams back at me, her eyes lighting up instantaneously. “I knew you’d understand.” Her head leans against my shoulder affectionately as we walk side by side.
“Hey Lyra,” a grumpy-sounding voice calls over her shoulder.
God bless. Here we go…
I pull my gaze over Sara’s head, directing my attention to Nash and popping my brow unkindly, the snide comment he made in parting earlier beginning to roll through my head again.
“How’s your ass? It feeling any better?” Green eyes sparkle with mischief.
Sara about chokes on her gum, her eyes widening when she glances back and forth between us in confusion.
“It wasn’t my ass, fuckface. It was my upper thigh…” I scowl at him, and he chuckles. That is, until his eyes drift over to the smokin’ hot guy beside me, who doesn’t seem to notice the conversation because of the loud background noise. Thank God.
“So, who’s the guy you’re with?” he presses, as if it might somehow be his business.
“Why are you so concerned with who my friends are?” I flip my hair over my shoulder, my eyes still narrowed in on him.
He shrugs, his eyes sliding over toward Ransom again, a scowl etching its way onto his face.
He started a war tonight, firing the first missile when he more or less insinuated I was dressed like a slut, and now I’ve allowed him to strike again without retaliation. That stops now.
“His name is Ransom. We just met, but he’s pretty chill… Meeting him got me thinking though...” I pause midsentence to blow a bubble with my gum until it pops, giving me time to take a step closer to Nash so I’m sure he can hear every syllable of what I’m about to say. “I’ve kind of had this Best-Guy-Friend position open for like, way too long. Years even. Maybe he’s just the man for the job. ‘Cuz lord knows, I won’t be taking applications from no little boys this time.” Nash’s steps slow to a near-halt, as his eyes meet mine, aiming a laser-sharpened death glare right my way—those green eyes seeming to glow in the dim light.
Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series Page 11
