Page 85 of Take My Name
Three days ago, I was confident that my life was perfect with Hayes. I knew it deep in my bones, and not because he’s in New York, but because there’s a level of mutual respect that Icherish. We have similar goals and the determination to hit them.
But after that kiss with Warren? That confidence evaporated into a layer of dust that appears after a bomb gets destroyed and all that’s left is the fallout.
He’s reminding me of things I forgot—my roots, how much fun we had, how to laugh at myself. When I’m with him, I’m my true self again.
I should hate him for making me second-guess my plans, and for a while, I loathed him for complicating my life every time he returned those papers. But all those feelings of frustration have long vanished.
“Is the music super loud or are we gettin’ old?” I lean into Warren’s ear so he can hear me over the bass.
“Both?” he muses, then tightens his grip on my hand and leads us through the crowd toward the bar. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a place like this, but only after a few minutes, I feel out of place.
After my call with Hayes, I did a lot of thinking and decided I’m going to spend these next three days doing what I set out to do from the start—give Warren what he wants in terms of trying to change my mind. Then come Saturday, I’ll make my decision. That way no one’s left wondering and everyone can move on. No more second-guessing or wondering about the what-ifs.
“Whaddya want to drink?” Warren asks once we find a spot at the bar.
“I’ll have…” I chew my lower lip, contemplating. “A Mai Tai.”
“Okay.”
“And tequila shots,” I quickly add when the bartender approaches.
I’ve also decided I need to get wasted tonight.
He does a double take, narrowing his eyes in question. “Alright…”
Then he leans over the bar to give her our order.
I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, but I can’t focus or have fun with my mind going a million miles an hour. I need something to help me let loose so I’m not a Debby Downer.
“I like this on you…” Warren thumbs the fabric of my purple dress covered in a cherries print. Then he flicks my cowboy hat. “This too.”
“Just know I had to go to three stores to find somethin’ cute.”
“Three? Oh, the hardship.”
I playfully punch his stomach and immediately regret it because it reminds me about his washboard abs.
“The boots too,” I say, giving his heel a little kick. They’re light purple, with a cute floral design.
“You don’t look so bad yourself, cowboy.” I smile up at his cowboy hat that admittedly does things to my ovaries.
He’s in dark wash Wranglers, with a western belt buckle and an eggplant purple button-up. The top two buttons are open and his sleeves are rolled up, which also makes my stomach flutter.
It’s not often he wears the cowboy getup, but when he does, I swear my clit piercing vibrates and my breathing halters.
“What was that you said to me about your outfit that day inthe barn?Casual chic?So I guess this iscowgirl chic?” he taunts, laughing.
“Very funny.” I kick him again, harder this time. “But if you must know, it’sflirty cowgirl.”
“Is that so?” He grabs the two tequila shots from the bar, then hands me one. “Show me whatcha got, city girl.”
We clink our glasses before shooting them down, and I choke as it burns down.
“Oh fuck.” I cough, setting the glass on the bar. “I can’t remember the last time I had that.”
“Same.”
He hands me the Mai Tai and takes his beer, then grabs my hand. “Let’s find a table.”
