Page 14 of The Texas Sterling Collection
“Oh, the stories I could tell…”
“You already told me about being beaten up. Any more incidents?”
“In my teen years, I didn’t understand some of the stuff said to me or about me.”
“Your high school days must have been hard. Walt experienced trouble, too. Because he didn’t play sports, kids assumed he was gay. A group of toughs tried to rough him up, but he put them in their place with his fists. After that, they left him alone.”
“Nobody taught me to fight back, so when the bullies attacked me, I cowered on the ground and waited for the attack to stop.” Rod rubbed the back of his neck.
“Are you okay? Is your neck bothering you?” I pushed down the sudden urge to comfort him and to massage the tension from his neck. I remembered the incredible sensation when I grabbed his shoulder.
Rod put his hand back on the wheel. “Talking about those days makes me tense, is all.”
“Walt says I give a mean neck massage if that will help.”
Rod tossed a grin my way. “Thanks, but I’m fine. What’s your preference for dinner? Big Spring has a popular Mexican restaurant, Papa Juan’s. Are you okay with Mexican?”
I caught the abrupt change of topic and experienced brief disappointment that the neck rub didn’t happen. Touching Rod could be addictive. And it’s not like a neck rub meant we agreed to go steady. Do old guys go steady? And why did I even ask myself? Fingers snapped at my face.
“Wyl? You still in there?”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry. I was wool-gathering. And Mexican is fine with me. Walt mentioned that place a couple of months ago. Let’s give Papa Juan’s a try.”
“Perfect. I’m hungry.”
Chapter Ten
WYL
At Papa Juan’s, the hostess showed us to a table. After studying the menu, Rod lifted his eyes to mine and caught me visualizing my fingers in his soft hair.
“Um...you up for a beer with dinner?”
I grinned ear-to-ear and extended my arm over the table. “Twist my arm.” I rotated my arm before Rod grabbed it. “Ow…enough!” I pulled back and laughed. “You didn’t impress me as one of those non-drinker types.”
“Me?” Rod thumped his chest twice with a fist. “I like a glass of wine or two after work, and…” He motioned his hand to draw me closer and leaned over the table for a loud whisper. “Sometimes I drink a martini.” He pulled back, grinning and nodding his head.
“Yeah?” I put on my best expression of disbelief but broke into a hearty laugh. “You crack me up, Bonner.” We never mentioned friendship, but I wondered if Rod sensed it, too. “So, light or dark? Beer is an absolute must with Mexican food.”
“Dark,” Rod barked out. “Beer in Europe is different, and I discovered I prefer the darker brews.”
I closed my menu and grinned. “Sounds like we need to trade travel stories sometime.”
Rod nodded. “Name the time and place.”
“One morning over coffee, perhaps?” Our easy, natural banter felt almost like a years-long friendship instead of weeks. The server appeared at the table, breaking my train of thought.
“Two Dos Equis Amber, please.” Rod held up two fingers.
“And two waters.” I imitated the two-finger thing.
“Right away.” She left to bring our drinks.
“Walt teases me about liking dark beer.” I toyed with my napkin and met Rod’s eyes. “I got in the habit while stationed in Europe. Europe and beer. Two things we have in common.”
The server brought our drinks, a basket of chips, and two bowls of chunky salsa. Rod ordered a taco salad, and I ordered the chili relleno dinner. The server took the menus, and we dove into the crunchy treats.
“So, you mentioned this is your first symphony concert.” Rod bit into a crisp chip.
