CHAPTER 13
Billy
Holy shit!
Had the lady lawyer really just invited herself to my house?
I hadn’t seen that one comin’.
I’d counted this night as a wash since I’d been too busy to chat her up. Sure, I’d caught her lookin’ my way more than once, but every time I did she looked more like a scientist studying a subject than a starved woman looking at a juicy steak.
The latter of the two was easy to read. Over the years I’d participated in the mating ritual and seen it play out in real time at the bar, I’d come to a conclusion that the reason people engaged in one-night stands, the reason they craved them, was because they were starving.
Starving for attention.
Starving for validation.
Starving for love.
Starving for human contact.
Starving for excitement.
Starving for danger.
It didn’t matter what the itch was that they were trying to scratch, there was desperation in the act. That was why there was so much passion behind the encounters. It wasn’t about the other person, it was about filling a void, a deficiency in one’s self.
I could spot that look a mile away. That’s not the way Reagan had looked at me. Her eyes were guarded but curious, it was like she was trying to figure me out. I’d never had a woman—or a man, come to think of it—look at me that way. Most people ’round here, and not from ’round here, for that matter, took me at face value. I was decent-looking with a boatload of charm, nothin’ deeper than that. It was oddly refreshing to have someone really look at me.
Still, I’d figured the attention was more about tryin’ to come to a conclusion about me than it was about attraction.
That was until she offered to go home with me. Sure, it was to “help,” with Cheyenne, but I knew better. Just because I talked slow didn’t mean I was. I’d seen the look in her eyes. Her “helping” me with Cheyenne was about me, not about my sister.
I had no idea what the lady lawyer was thinking was gonna happen tonight, but I sure as hell couldn’t wait to find out.
“Hey, man I’m taking off early.” If I was leaving the reins to anyone other than Cash, I’d be worried. But he’d been working here damn near as long as I’d been managing and could handle a busy night with one hand tied behind his back.
“Let me guess.” Cash tilted his chin up in a brief nod. “Your early departure have anything to do with needin’ to go tuck a lady into bed?”
I knew what he was implying, and I couldn’t blame him. But that didn’t stop my chest from constricting with defensiveness. My after-dark, and hell, even daylight activities had given me a reputation that I’d had no problem living up to, even though it was at damn near mythical levels. I accepted that my track record caused folks to talk, and assume things, even my best friend. I’d never paid much, or any, attention to people making assumptions and wagging their tongues. But things were different with Reagan. She was different.
“Yeah, it does.” My throat was tight with unjustified indignation. “Cheyenne. She’s passed out and I’m taking her home to sleep it off.”
I’d known Cash since we both were still riding on training wheels. And the concerned look that crossed his face now was reserved for people that he was close to, people that he loved. I wanted to believe that his reaction was about me and he was transferring his worry onto Cheyenne, but I didn’t think that was the case.
“Is she okay?” I saw his eyes shoot to the outdoor patio, zeroing in on the table that Cheyenne was using as her napping surface.
“She’ll be fine.” My response came out a lot more tense than I’d meant it to. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“What?” Cash’s eyes cut to mine.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d think there’s something going on between you two.” That was impossible, considering Cheyenne had only come home that day, but from the moment I’d mentioned her name this afternoon, Cash had been acting suspicious.
My friend’s face scrunched up the way it had when his mom caught us smoking behind her barn, and when Coach Nelson found the itching powder we’d sprinkled in his shoes, and when his girlfriend-at-the-time Madeline Spencer accused him of making out with her stepsister at Prom. It was the face he made when he was caught red-handed and was trying to hide something. It was his guilty face.
“Is there something going on between you two?” I asked more directly.
“No. What are you…talking about? I haven’t seen her in twenty years,” he stammered.