Page 90 of Sweet Escape
Wilder
I wasa goddamn idiot to think I’d get through this night unscathed. We’re not even out the door yet, and Olivia’s already testing my resolve in a denim bell-bottom jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and sparkly boots. She looks like she should be on stage instead of on my arm.
“If you could just pick your jaw up off the floor, we might actually make it to the concert,” Ruby says, taunting me.
Olivia fluffs her blonde waves in the mirror as I stand in the hallway with my sister, staring over the threshold into my bedroom.
“You did this on purpose,” I murmur.
“Of course I did. She’s hot as fuck, and she needed the reminder. Your shabby tees were doing nothing for her.”
“They were doing something for me. I like her wearing my tees.”
“Of course you do. It makes her a walking, talking ‘Wilder Hayeswas here’ billboard. But she’s still a woman, and she deserves to feel beautiful, too.”
I grumble a curse under my breath. “I’m gonna be fending off men all damn night thanks to you.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll convince you to get your head outta your ass and ask her to be your girlfriend instead of this fucked up roommates with benefits situation you have going on.”
“Roo…”
“What? You think it’s a secret you two go at it like rabbits every chance you get? She’s not a broodmare, Wilder. You should try actually courting her.”
“Courting? What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?”
She pins me with that all-too-familiar glare Mama gives us often.
“You’re too damn nosey for your own good.”
“You love me.”
Sighing, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and kiss the side of her head. “Yeah. I do.”
We pull up to the bar thirty minutes before Ruby’s supposed to go on stage, parking around back in the employee lot so Liam can sneak her in as a surprise for the birthday girl.
The Ridge has changed a lot in recent years—a far cry from the small town dive it once was. It has a much more upscale rustic vibe, with natural wood and industrial accents. High-top tables and chairs are scattered around a makeshift dance floor, a mic stand and stool already set atop the small stage off to the right, and there’s a crowd growing around the bar to the left, its pristine live edge countertop littered with coasters and drinks.
One thing that hasn't changed since the last time I was here is the collection of black and white photographs hanging on the wall behind the bar, chronicling the town’s history above the neatly lined liquor bottles. If you look closely, in the top right corner, there’s a photograph of my great-grandparents on the ranch back when it was little more than a single barn and the old farmhouse I now call home.
“What do you want to drink, Cupcake?” She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. “Wait. Let me guess. Something sweet. Shirley Temple?”
She narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms over her chest, drawing my attention to her tits peeking out beneath that dangerously low neckline. “Let me guess, whiskey neat? Blanton’s bourbon?”
I chuckle. “Any other day, maybe. I have to get my baby mama home safely, so it’s just soda for me tonight.”
“I can drive,” she says.
“No.” My tone is clipped, and I don’t wait for her to argue, flagging down the bartender. “Can we get a cola and a Shirley Temple?”
Liv’s hand rests gently on my forearm. “Hey. Are you okay?”
Clearing my throat, I nod. “I’m fine.”
Once the bartender returns with our drinks, I slide some cash across the bar and gesture for her to follow me to one of the high-top tables near the stage. Liv perches on one of the stools, but not without difficulty. Her belly bumps the table, rattling our drinks. She winces and places a hand over her Shirley Temple to stop it from spilling, then wipes her hand on a napkin. I remain standing, wanting to be as close to her as I can, resting my forearm on the table and the other hand on her thigh.
“Everybody’s staring,” she whispers, her hot breath fanning over my cheek.
“Have you seen yourself? You’re a fucking knockout.”
