Page 25 of Forty

I should make sure Crista’s okay and bail. She seems all right now that Scrap’s here. Fay-Lee drove, but I bet there’s someone hanging around out front who I know somehow. Petty’s Mill is a small town. Already tonight I’ve seen my old bus driver and a handful of people I went to school with. Someone will give me a ride, and if not, I can call Lou. Shit. Petty’s Mill is way bigger than it used to be. Maybe the town has ride share by now.

While my brain’s spinning like a top and my feet are going nowhere, Steel Bones is shifting in their seats, all menace and hostility. Creech is spitting something in Heavy’s ear, animated, the gauges in his ears flapping as he gesticulates toward me. Heavy narrows his eyes. People start cuttingmewary glances.

Yeah, now would be a good time to get gone.

Forty’s still staring at a wall so his face is in profile. His jaw’s clenched so hard the muscles in his neck have popped out. He’s not wearing business casual tonight. He’s got on a black T-shirt under his cut. His biceps are straining against cotton, his hands rest motionless on the table. It’s weird how someone cansitat attention. He’s doing it though.

My belly swooshes. It’s part justifiable fear, part extremely ill-advised excitement. I want him to look at me. I want to mess up his perfect control.

He sits there, ignoring me, surrounded by people who have his back without question. Hard as stone. Like when he blocked my number.Nevaeh, we’re done.Click. The end.

He’s staring at the top shelf liquor now. In case I was unclear about whether I’m worth noticing. I’m not.

Dick.

You know what? I wonder if he’s really not watching.

I wonder what he’d do if one of his brothers comes after me. Bet he’ll look at me then.

The gentleman in the bolo tie calls out, “Now shake your booty.”

Yes, sir. Perfect timing. I can do that. I amp it up to ten, make it pop.

The redheaded guy hollers, “Shake it, don’t break it, sister.” Unlike the folks at the tables, he doesn’t seem to notice there’s a motorcycle gang fixin’ to murder me.

I laugh as loud as I can, and I’m not even faking ‘cause the line was funny in a cheesy way, and truth be told, I’m really tipsy and a lot high on life. There’s another ominous shifting from the Steel Bones table, but I don’t care. A tic has shown up in Forty’s temple. Bingo. My man has great peripheral vision.

My man? Where did that come from?

Doesn’t matter. The genie is out of the bottle. My heart’s racing, and there’s tingles dancing across my skin. Men and women are swirling and colors are bright and blurry. Finally, the world’s moving at my speed, and I can surf the music and laughter and danger like a wave. I shimmy my shoulders, and throw my head back.

Oh, yeah. I’m about to make some bad decisions.

“What’s your name?” Red Beard asks, easing over to me, smiling wide and flirty.

“Nevaeh.” Toe, heel, step left, step right, grapevine. I’m singing along to the song. Where did I learn the words?

I let my body go. It feels so good.

I’ve been nothing but well-behaved. All I do is clean the house, and until the beers I had with Fay-Lee when we first rolled up tonight—and those few with Boots, and a couple with Lou—I haven’t been drinking.

I don’t want the fun to end. It’s not too much to ask.

Forty wants to pretend I don’t exist? Let his boys menace me from across the room? Whatever. I’m gonna shake my ass just for him, and when they come for me, I’m not gonna go quietly.

I can take ‘em. I can take the whole world.

Heavy and Nickel and the rest of them are all about loyalty? Bullshit. Back in high school, they watched me spiral, and except for Shirlene, no one said shit. No one asked me what the hell I was doing. They ran straight to Forty and told him to kick me to the curb.

I own my fuck ups, I do, but maybe it’s okay to be a little mad, too. A little spiteful.

I catch Red Beard’s eye and swing my hips, really swoop and jiggle. His smile’s eating up his face now. He rakes his eyes down my front, licking his lips in appreciation.

I dressed to impress tonight, dark blue painted-on jeans, a drapey top with spaghetti straps in emerald green, and brown cowgirl boots with fringe. No bra and a thong so I’ve got no panty lines.

Damn straight he should be smiling. I’m a snack.

I’d feel bad about leading him on if he didn’t seem so cocksure. It’s not gonna crush this guy when I cut things off after a dance or two. I’m kind of hoping for a slow dance when the guitars and twang fades, and to my utter surprise, a fat beat drops instead.

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