Page 2 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
Kissie scream-laughed through her fingers. “Shut up!”
There were so many things she’d miss about Mystic Hot Springs when they left in the morning. She’d miss the warm and friendly vibe of the bar, the way the sheets on the bed in their room smelled like lavender, the way Dawn was finally climbing out of the pits of despair she’d been wallowing in. It went without saying she’d miss the hot, slippery water in the pool that—even though it smelled a little like rotten eggs—had completely resolved the constant kink in her neck. But most of all, head and shoulders above everything else, she’d miss flirting with Hot Bartender.
There was nobody to flirt with back home, nobody at work. There were only three other people in her agency, two were a lesbian couple, and the third was a straight, sixty-five-year-old happily married curmudgeon named Bart. The only men at the bars in Missoula seemed to be sporty college dudes who only wanted to get laid, and being years removed from college herself, that kind of action got old fast.
Kissie wasn’t interested in getting laid this weekend. In fact, getting laid was against the rules. What she wanted to do was flirt, and Hot Bartender was the pot of gold at the end of the flirting rainbow. A pot of gold whose name was actually Trig, or at least that’s what everyone around here called him.
While Trig made a pitcher of margaritas for a table of college girls, Kissie appreciated deeply the way his shoulders stretched the red and black checks of his flannel shirt, and how the round bubbles of his adorable butt filled out his jeans. Keeping her voice so quiet only highly specialized equipment would have detected it, she said, “I want to stuff you in my luggage and take you home with me.”
“Uh oh,” he said when he turned back around, making Kissie suck in a breath becausedoes he have bat ears or something?He pointed to the dance floor. “That looks pretty serious.”
Spinning around, Kissie narrowed her eyes. Cowboy hat guy had moved in awfully close to Dawn. Being severely vertically challenged, Kissie had to kneel on her stool to see the entire scene, using Hot Bartender’s hand for support.
What she saw made her bellow, “No way! Not on my watch!”
Cowboy hat guy had pulled Dawn’s thigh up over his hip and was grinding against her in front of god and everyone, even doing the white man’s overbite while he was at it.
Kissie cringed.
Dancing away the ex was one thing, but this was not a free for all. They weren’t cavepeople. They had rules. And they’d made it almost the entire weekend following every single one. Kissie wasn’t about to let Dawn tarnish her perfect record on the last night of their trip.
Jumping down from her stool, she shouted, “Out of the way, please! Official wingwoman business!” while shouldering through the crowd dancing to Salt-N-Pepa’s “Push It!”
She made her way to the back of the bar where Dawn and cowboy hat guy were about to walk through the door. Together.
“Stop right there! Rule number four, Dawn! RULE NUMBER FOUR!”
Dawn was swaying on her feet, her eyes squinty and unfocused. “Not applicable!” she shouted back at Kissie. “I’m not drunk!”
“What’s rule number four?” Kissie heard cowboy hat guy ask.
“No drunk hookups,” Kissie answered. She grabbed Dawn’s hand, pulling her out of cowboy hat guy’s arms and into her own. “So, thank you very much, kind cowboy, for your chivalry in this matter. Because I’m sure you wouldn’t be trying to take advantage of a woman while she was under the influence.”
“I’m not drunk,” Dawn insisted, but it sounded more like “Immnahdrnk.” And then she burped.
“Whatever,” cowboy hat guy said irritably, walking back out onto the dance floor, already grinding up on some other woman’s ass.
“Classy!” Kissie shouted after him. “Real classy, dude!”
“I liked him,” Dawn whined while Kissie led her back to the bar. “He was pretty.”
“Everything all right?” Hot Bartender asked.
“Oh, sure. I just need to get my friend to bed. Got a long drive back home tomorrow and she is crunked!”
He nodded, the motion making the soft little curls of his bangs sway over his forehead. It gave her goosebumps. “Well, Sexy Bar Babe,” when he winked at her, her goosebumps grew goosebumps, “if I don’t see you tomorrow, drive safe.”
Kissie bit her cheek. This wassounfair. People didn’t, as a rule, call her sexy. Being short and curvy, people tended to call her cute or adorable or, the absolute worst, spunky. Rarely sexy. But Hot Bartender probably called everyone sexy.Hell, the man lived on tips!
With a lame salute, she said, “Will do, Hot Sexbomb Bartender.”
“He really is hot,” slurred Dawn, her head heavy on Kissie’s shoulder, her curly red hair trailing down Kissie’s arm. “Hot, pretty man.”
He winced. “Woof. I hope you’re not too hungover tomorrow, Sexy Bar Babe’s friend.”
“Her name is Dawn,” Ryan said, sidling up next to them.
With a significant eye-roll, Trig said, “Of course you know her name already,” to his friend.
