“No, you weren’t,” Aria says, her lips quirking up on one side. “You can fool most of the people most of the time, Mason Stewart, but you can’t fool me.” She hiccups, giggling as she points a finger at his face. “You were telling my tale of woe to my old friend, Nash, weren’t you?”
She’s drunk. Wasted.
She has to be, or she’d never call me an “old friend” let alone be amused that Mason’s been talking about her behind her back.
“Sorry.” Mason cringes as Lark widens her eyes at him. “I’m pissed off on your behalf, and Nash is a friend and it just…came out.”
“I swear, you boys are worse gossips than Nana’s friends at church,” Melody says, wrapping her arms around Aria’s waist in a show of solidarity.
“It’s okay.” Aria waves a hand unsteadily through the air. “Everyone will know soon enough. Stupid small town. Stupid talking.” She hiccups again. “I need more beer. Let us away to the beer tent, my ladies!”
Melody arches her brows pointedly at Lark.
“I think we should hold off on that for a little while,” Lark says casually. “Why don’t we head over to the agriculture building and check out Nana’s watermelon before it gets too late?”
Aria’s lips push into a pout. “No. Beer first. Then watermelon.”
“I don’t think you should, Ra,” Melody says. “I think you’ve had enough.”
“Well, I don’t,” Aria says as she detangles herself from Melody’s arms. “And I’m sure I can find someone around here to buy me a beer.” She turns, pinning me with a sleepy gaze that makes my heart skip a beat. “What about you, Nash? Would you buy me a beer?” She tips her head back to meet my gaze, her lips curving into a wide grin.
It’s a tipsy smile, but still bright enough to dazzle.
Buy her a beer?
Well…why not?
Why the hell not?
“Sure. I could use a beer.” I bob a reassuring nod at Mason and Aria’s sisters. “We’ll get a drink and meet y’all in the Ag building in a few.”
Lark’s forehead bunches. “Are you sure about this, you two?” Her troubled eyes shift my way “Nash?”
“Yes, mother, we’re sure.” Aria rolls her eyes and loops her arm through mine with an unexpected familiarity, while I try to ignore the way my pulse beats faster. “We’ll be fine. I’ll see you later. Goodbye, family. Love you lots.”
Without another word, she sets off toward the beer tent, towing me behind her with that surprising strength of hers. She’s deceptively fragile looking for a person with one of the strongest wills I’ve ever encountered.
Aria March is a woman a man underestimates at his peril.
Maybe that’s why, as I glance over my shoulder, I find both of her sisters casting their worried looks my way, not hers.
But their fears are unfounded. I can handle myself around Aria.
Right?
Chapter Seven
Aria
God, this man…
Why does he have to be so damned fine from head to toe and everything in between?
Nash is even bigger than he used to be. Huge, in fact, with muscles popping out on top of his muscles and a powerful physical presence that makes people turn to stare—and then take a step back—as he walks by. They cleared a path for us as we charged into the beer tent, and we only had to wait a couple of minutes before the harried bartender hurried over to take our order.
Which is good.
I was starting to un-numb and that’s not on my agenda tonight.
I’m going to stay gently drunk until I tumble into bed. I know I’ll regret it when Felicity wakes me up in a few hours, but right now I don’t care. I just need to hold the fear and dread at arm’s length a little while longer.
“You realize your forearm is as big around as a fully-grown boa constrictor,” I say, my voice slurring a bit.
Okay, so maybe I’m more than gently drunk. I’m fully intoxicated and clearly not in my right mind or I never would have suggested Nash and I go anywhere together. Ever.
I hate Nash Geary. Mostly. Except when he was being sweet to Felicity at the BBQ a while back. And when he looked at me with that pained, hopeful expression as he left that night, almost as if he remembered, just for a second, that we hadn’t always been enemies.
That we actually used to like each other a whole, whole lot…
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Nash asks, glancing down at his arm.
“Neither. Just an observation,” I reply, squinting up into his face. Yep, it’s still as stupidly handsome as it was the last time I looked. “Have you ever seen a boa constrictor? In real life?”
“Can’t say I have,” he drawls, taking a pull of his twenty-four-ounce draft.
I was a little worried when he ordered the extra-large—by law, we have to stay in the beer tent until we’re finished with our drinks, and my sisters will freak out if I take too long to meet them at Nana’s watermelon—but at this rate he’ll be done with his drink long before I finish my twelve ounces.