“Dude.” Landon throws his hands up in the air then points to the pool table.
I wrinkle my brows when I hear the slurping of my straw again. There’s got to be a hole at the bottom of this cup because there’s no way I sucked that down so fast. “Go on. I need to go to the bathroom anyway.”
“You’re the best.” Josh dips his head and kisses my lips. I don’t get time to relish them because he pulls away a fraction of a second later and turns towards Landon. “You’re going down, fucker.”
I wait in line, bouncing on my toes so not to think about the urgent need to pee, for about ten minutes before a stall opens. You’d think that a place as busy as this would have more than three toilets in the girl’s bathroom, but no.
As luck would have it, it’s the handicap one that’s free. I look behind me to see if there’s anyone who needs the oversized stall more than me, but everyone looks able bodied. Fuck it.
I take a quick tinkle and look down at the X as I wash my hands. The soap has already faded the black marker. If I scrub a little harder, the ink would barely be visible. I pump some more soap onto the back of my hand and work my fingernails in a circle over the foam. It takes a minute, but the X disappears. I smile into the mirror and fix my hair, proud that I’m no longer putting Josh in danger for contributing to a minor.
When I leave the restroom, Josh isn’t at the pool table with Landon. I glance around the game area, but can’t find him. Nervous needles creep down my spine, but I push them away. The last time my date disappeared, I caught him with his pants down. Literally. I wasn’t heartbroken. I didn’t love Ashley, but seeing the man who promised himself to me balls deep in another woman hurt. “Did you see where Josh went?”
Hattie, sweaty and out of breath from the dance floor, rubs an ice cube over the back of her neck and shakes her head. “I thought he was with you.”
“I was in the bathroom.” I bite my lip and look around again but don’t see him. Everything is fine. Josh isn’t Ashley. Give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Relax.” Hattie rests her hand on my arm. “That man is crazy about you. I doubt he went far.”
“I’m gonna go find him.”
Hattie gives me a wave, then goes back to cooling herself off. I circle the game area, making sure I didn’t miss him. Convinced he’s not up here, I step down to the main level. I walk around the dance floor and head towards the bar. Just when I think all hope is lost, I catch a glimpse of Josh, heading into a room marked employees only, with a gorgeous blonde.
“If you don’t come in there with me, I’ll tell my manager you’re buying drinks for a minor,” Amanda Harbrough demands.
I grit my teeth and follow her through a side door marked Employees Only because getting arrested would look worse on a first date than disappearing for a few minutes. Although, if either of the guys saw me duck into a breakroom with Amanda, any and all chances I have with Layla would be shot. Hattie’s taken a liking to her, which means they’ll bust my balls if Layla gets hurt.
I cross my arms as the door closes and glare. Amanda needs to realize that this is the last place on earth I want to be. Had I known she’d gotten a job at Cowboy’s, Layla and I never would have come here. “What do you want?”
Amanda smiles, gloating because, for the first time in weeks, I've done what she wants. She’s pretty with her bleached hair and dark eyeliner, but she knows that. Her confidence is what caught my attention a few months ago when she came onto me. Too bad she’s crazier than a sprayed roach. “You haven’t been returning my calls.”
“And?” I’d block her number if I could figure out how. I’m not technologically illiterate, like Mom, but every time Apple releases a new phone, Bret takes my phone, and upgrades both his and mine, not caring if I want something new. I’m handed something I don’t know how to use, but it makes him happy so I don’t complain. I’m not a lost cause; I can text, read emails, and work the four apps I use daily, but that’s about as far as my smartphone knowledge goes.
“And…” Amanda sets her hands over her flat stomach. “We have things we need to discuss.”
“We.” I point my finger between us, “don’t need to talk about anything. You…” I point at her, “need to leave me alone.”
I turn and grab the handle of the break room. I’ve entertained her bullshit long enough. That thing growing in her stomach isn’t mine. We slept together, twice, with condoms, and she is supposed to be on the pill. I’m more likely to win the lotto than to spawn a child with those odds. Besides, Amanda is about as well known around town as Kelly is, and it ain’t for her good looks.
“This baby is com
ing whether you like it or not, Josh!” she yells. “You can live in denial for seven more months, but I know what the paternity test is going to say, so get ready.”
I shake my head, more irritated than pissed. This is the reason I never bring girls home. Amanda may not know what the ranch looks like, but she knows it exists and she knows that it’s mine. I’d bet that baby belongs to some crackhead and she’s on her knees every night, praying it’s mine, because I’ve got a stable income.
“Until I see my name on a legal paternity test, not one of those drug store ones, leave me the fuck alone. We’re done.” I step into the bar and slam the door behind me, not that anyone can hear my tantrum over the music.
I stop at the bar before going back up to the pool tables. I need a drink and possibly a restraining order. The bartender hands me a Jack and Coke and I turn, leaning my elbows on the counter. I take a sip and almost spit it all over the guy walking past me. What the fuck?
I wasn’t gone long, ten minutes, tops. Nowhere near enough time for Layla to slip into someone else's arms on the dance floor. It’s not just the guy’s hand on her back that’s got me seeing red, nor is it the fingers he’s threaded through her hair. It’s his lips, pressed against hers, that makes me forget we’re at a bar and not a mudhole back home.
I push my way through the room, shoving people out of my way. I’m not nice about it, earning a few scowls and snide remarks. Someone even reaches for my shoulder, but I brush them off because all I can see is the back of Layla’s head, no longer kissing the person in front of her, and the top of the dude’s blonde locks.
I reach them and take Layla by the arm, pulling her out of the way because this guy is about to die. I ball my fist, but hesitate when I recognize the crooked nose and shit-eating-grin. “You son-of-a-bitch.”
Sam stumbles back a step, chuckling, when I shove him. “Took you long enough.”
“What the fuck?” I yell at neither of them and both of them at the same time. I thought Layla was different. She ignored me, shot me down, gave me hope that not every girl out there was spreading her legs as soon as a good looking dick came around. I run my hands through my hair, trying to figure out why I’m so pissed and what to do next. “Why the hell are you kissing him?”