Page 12 of Enamored
She shakes her head, her loose curls swaying around her shoulders “None of your concern. I hope you’re not this rigid with your guests normally. Or am I a special case?” she sasses.
I lean closer and keep my voice quiet—calm. “You know damn well you’re a special case.”
Her breath catches in her throat. “H-have a good night, Tristan.”
She pulls her arm from my grasp and sashays down the path to the main house. Not a chance in hell she’s going out alone.
Chapter 7
Lana
Iwas not expecting that to come out of his mouth. Actually, I don’t know what I expected him to say. I make sure to add a little more sway than normal to my walk as I head to the house to catch my ride. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Holden.
Me:I’m going out for a drink. It’s been a rough day. Want to come?
Then I think of it and add:
Me:Don’t you dare tell Tristan where we’re going if you come.
Holden:Where are we going?
Me:The Country Line Bar. Uber will be here in a few minutes.
Holden:I’ll meet you there in an hour.
My ride pulls up, and I slide into the seat, closing the door as Tristan calls my name. I pretend I don’t hear him. After this day from hell, I just need a drink and to let off some steam. I don’t want to think tonight. I confirm the location with the driver, and we’re off, leaving Tristan in the dust.
It was two in the morning in England when I called Russ. He was happy to hear my voice, until he wasn’t. I ripped him a new asshole so large he’s never going to be the same. All these years, I didn’t know. All these years, Tristan kept it from me because he didn’t want to interfere with my friendship. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry about the whole thing. It’s messed up.
There’s a chance things with Tristan never would have gone past a few weeks after I left. I would have been okay with that, knowing we’d tried. I would know it was just the timing and our circumstances. Now, I will never know because Russ stripped that chance from me. I hate him for it.
I let him say his side of the story, and when it correlated with what Tristan told me, I couldn’t hold back. It’s like a dam burst wide open, and I couldn’t stop what poured from my lips. He’s smart, and he hasn’t tried to call or text me back. I know Russ well enough to know he will give me time to cool off and try again, though.
I pull open my contact list and block him just as the driver pulls up to the bar. I thank him as I step out onto the street then I make my way to the entrance. Music blares through the speakers inside as I dig my I.D. out of my small handbag to show the bouncer. He waves me through, and I take a deep breath, willing myself to relax.
Alcohol. That’s the first thing on my mind. I want something that will help me get a nice buzz, and fast. I find a seat at the bar and look at the bartender.
“What can I get you?”
“I’d like a Washington Red Apple Martini, please.” He narrows his eyes at me and then turns to the bar to start mixing my drink. He puts a cocktail napkin withThe Country Line Barlogo on it in front of me and plops the drink down, and a few drops of the red liquid slosh over the side and slide down the delicate glass.
“Thanks.” I take a large gulp of it and lick my lips. There is a little more whiskey in this drink, like he knows I need it. I hold my glass up to the bartender in a cheers motion as he eyes me, and I swivel in my seat to watch the rows of people on the dance floor.God, that looks like fun.There are at least twenty people out there, lined up, all moving in sync to the country music blaring through the speakers.
I remember when Tristan taught me to line dance. It was probably the best time I’ve ever had. The way his fingers felt on my hips is burned into my memory. The raw need that coursed through us; even after all these years, I can still feel it.I’m leaving in two days. Don’t get attached.I down the rest of my drink in two large gulps and put the glass on the bar.
I hop off the stool and walk into the middle of the throng of people. It’s like they knew I was coming; a few people shuffle over, giving me space to slide in and get my groove on. The whiskey in the drink and lack of food in my belly is kicking in as I stomp my foot and shake my hips. We all turn around and start again. I laugh as I mess up the moves, and the guy next to me watches my footwork.
His fingers brush over my hips, and he pulls his body a little closer to mine but not enough to make me uncomfortable.
“Looks like you need a hand with the moves, darlin’.” His lips are close to my ear to allow me to hear him.
I smile and turn to face him so I can get a good look at him, and what I see is not a disappointment—dark hair, expressive honey brown eyes, and a shirt that hugs his muscular form just right. His biceps bulge under the grey V-neck t-shirt he’s sporting. I can see a tattoo poking out from under his right sleeve, and I tilt my head to get a better look at it.
“I’m Emmett,” he calls over the volume of the music.
Emmett.It’s a nice name. I try it on my tongue quietly to see if I like the feel of it. I smile and shake my hips as the song ends. “Lana. Nice to meet you, Emmett.” I tip my cowboy hat at him, and he smiles wide. It’s a nice smile, warm, and it reaches his eyes that are shining with mystery.
“How about another drink?” He places his hand over his heart. “My treat.” He motions out to the bar, and I follow his gesture, looking at the colorful bottles behind the bartender. I lick my lips, thinking of another martini, and nod. He jerks his head, and I follow him past the people sitting at the tables and on the dance floor to a corner of the busy bar. The bartender comes over, and we order. I take another Washington Red Martini, and he has a Jack and Coke, light ice.
