Page 71 of Wild Eyes
It makes it worse.
Tabby forges ahead, a tiny spitfire who doesn’t give a shit what people think. She walks to the bar and pulls out a well-worn stool. I want so badly to follow her, but I feel like a deer in the headlights.
Frozen.
I look for a safe place. I look for West.
When I hear his laughter, the tension in my body eases a bit.
Rosie slings her arm around my shoulder and whispers, “Think of how good the wineherewill be. Tabby is going to be in fine form.”
I snort a very unladylike laugh and, just like that, my body unlocks, and I let my new friend guide me forward. By the time we get to our seats, Tabby hasn’t ordered wine—she’s ordered tequila.
“Thanks, Frankie,” she says with a radiant smile to the man behind the bar.
“Anything for my girl,” he singsongs before turning away to another customer.
I settle on my stool and take in my surroundings. Our three stools are near the bottom of the U-shaped bar, right where a swinging gate divides the bowling alley section from the equally dated drinking area.
Neon signs illuminate the windows and old license plates decorate the walls, along with paper bills of various currencies and the occasional signed sports jersey. I only recognize one—Jasper Gervais, a famous hockey player.
The place has a run-down dive bar sort of charm. It feels totally different from the Reach, as the locals call it.
Rose Valley Alley feels exactly like the type of place Skylar Stone shouldn’t be seen in. And that just makes me like it more.
Now that the chatter is back in full force, I no longer feel like the center of attention. In fact, now that I’m breathing evenly enough to take a proper look around, I’m wondering if the halt in activity was simply because women were standing in a bar full of men.
“Goddamn, this place is a sad little sausage fest,” Tabby remarks from beneath a dark fringe of lashes before sipping on her tequila.
“Take that back, Tabby Cat. Those claws hurt,” West announces, popping up from behind us like a fucking jack-in-the-box. I start, but then the weight of his warm hand rests against my lower back and I instantly relax. “Plus, it’s a big,happy sausage fest. And why are you sippingtequila like it’s tea? That shit is meant for shooting.”
“Because I don’t want to be so drunk that I can’t enjoy the hilarity of grown men dressing in matching outfits and playing games together.”
“What are you doing here?” Ford saunters through the swinging gate, staring daggers at Rosie.
She grins maniacally. “Came to cheer you on.”
Ford doesn’t take the bait. In fact, he continues scowling at her. “You’re not dressed like a cheerleader.”
She shrugs. “I could be later.”
“No. Please, god, no.” West has his hands over his face, laughing. “I am so happy for you guys, but please do not have these conversations in front of me.” When he drops his hands, the amusement is clear on his face. “The real question is, why are you ladies here on men’snight?”
His sister’s eyes narrow. “It’s men’s night”—she points over his shoulder—“over there. Behind the fence where you belong. Here, though? Here, it’s just a regular night.”
“This night is sacred,” West says.
Tabby takes another sip of tequila, head shaking. “Listen, West. You’re scared of women.We get it. Go throw your balls and pretend we’re not here.”
My head whips between everyone. I’m beyond amused. This level of camaraderie makes me feel like I’m living in a sitcom.
“I’m not afraid of women. I lovewomen. I respectwomen.” He leans toward her, propping a hand on her shoulder. “I just get a little nervous when they watch me throw my balls,” he whispers.
Tabby smirks. “You’re a child. That why you’re such a commitment-phobe?”
“I’m not?—”
“You’re not the one who had to listen to Bree vent about you as she picked up her coffee. Do you know how shrill her voice is first thing in the morning? Who am I kidding? Of course you do.” The more Tabby lays into West, the wider his mouth opens. “Anyway, you’re definitely a commitment-phobe. And she kinda sucks, but my dude: boys’ nights and friends-with-benefits… How old are you again?”
