Page 56 of Panty Dropper

CHAPTER 26

Reagan

Closed to CelebrateJames Comfort Sr.’s Last Call!

My palms were a little sweaty as I read the chalkboard sign hanging on the door of the bar. I didn’t feel like I belonged here, celebrating the life of a man that I’d only known after his death. If Cheyenne hadn’t asked me to come to the reception, I would’ve been back at the office working on a brief that I needed to file first thing Monday morning.

Now, I would have to work over the weekend. Which was fine. I liked working. Working kept my mind from wandering down paths that I’d rather not travel.

Such as what in the world I was doing with my life. I knew that I’d dodged a bullet. If I hadn’t caught Blaine, I would’ve wasted years, if not decades, trying to make a life work that neither of us really wanted. It was for the best that I’d walked in on him, even if it obliterated the life I’d planned on living.

So what was I left with? I’d come to Firefly to lick my wounds and start fresh, but this town, this job, wasn’t part of my ten, twenty, or fifty year plan. It was temporary. It was a stepping stone. I felt at loose ends, and thanks to my formative years, I hated feeling like that.

My life with Blaine in New York didn’t fit anymore, not that it ever really did. But life in Firefly didn’t fit either. I liked the town, the people. But I hadn’t worked my entire life to end up in a small town; just like the one I’d spent the first eight years of my life in.

I wasn’t sure where I belonged.

In Billy’s bed.

I shook that traitorous thought out of my head and prepared to enter the bar. I was even more nervous than the first time I’d stepped through this door. And look how that night had ended…which was exactly why I was so nervous.

I hadn’t spoken to Billy since our sexy-time sleepover and I had zero experience in how to face someone after having carnal knowledge of them outside of a committed relationship.

In an attempt to research acceptable behavior, I’d googled post one night stand etiquette, but the advice was primarily focused on night of best-practices, not four days later dos and don’ts. Apparently, this wasn’t a scenario that popped up on Emily Post’s radar.

From what Nadia’d told me and the whispers I’d heard at the funeral, I felt it was safe to assume that Billy “Panty Dropper” Comfort was a pro at casual flings, so I doubted he was counting the days since we’d been together, or worried about post-hookup etiquette.

If it were up to me, I’d avoid Billy Comfort at all costs for the rest of my time here in Firefly. Or at least for a few months, hopefully enough time for him to forget about our naughty night. But this wasn’t about me. It was about Cheyenne. Who, just like me, was wrestling with the same struggle to belong that I was. I could tell. But unlike me, she did belong here, she was just having a hard time feeling it.

As I was standing, frozen in place, a man wearing a Canadian tuxedo and sporting a scraggly white beard and weathered skin, walked past me and pulled on the handle of the large oak door. Holding it open, he removed his ball cap, tipped his head and drawled, “After you, little lady.”

“Thanks.” I pasted a smile on and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.

Once inside, I glanced around and saw that the bar was even more crowded than it had been the last time I’d been there. People were packed in like sardines, standing shoulder to shoulder. I scanned the room and when I didn’t immediately see Cheyenne anywhere, a brilliant plan hit me.

I could leave and text her later and say that I stopped by and didn’t see her. My conscience would be clean since I wasn’t lying, and I could avoid running into…

“You’re here.”

Billy appeared in front of me like I’d conjured him up. He still wore his white shirt and maroon tie, but he was more casual than he’d been at the service. His sleeves were rolled up, the top few buttons were undone and the knot of the tie was loosened, exposing the base of his neck. My mouth watered as I remembered covering that area in open-mouthed kisses and the moan that rumbled in his chest when I did.

His lips, the ones that had been in my most intimate place, lifted in a smile, which in turn had aforementioned intimate place clenching with need. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was either, but I heard the first round’s on the house. I couldn’t pass that up,” I joked hoping he didn’t hear the shakiness in my voice.

“You just missed the group picture.”

Then my timing was perfect. Cheyenne had mentioned that would be happening and I was glad that I’d been absent. There was no need to have any photographic evidence of my pit stop in Firefly.

I was trying to come up with appropriate banter when Billy’s large palm rested on my lower back and he kissed me on the cheek. As soon as I felt his lips brush my skin, my breath caught in my throat. “Let’s get you that drink.”

As he guided me through the crowd, a phenomenon similar to when he was carrying out Cheyenne happened: people moved out of his way. My body instinctively relaxed into his touch—that is, until I heard murmurs and saw several people giving us the side-eye.

I knew that eye. I’d seen hundreds of people give it to my mother. It was the one that said, can you believe she showed up here, or can you believe she’s wearing that, or can you believe who she’s sleeping with.

It was the last accusation that really hit home for me. I felt myself stiffen as I shifted away from Billy’s touch. I’d spent my entire life doing everything I could to distance myself from those looks, and I’d be damned if the one night that I’d allowed myself to indulge in my wildest fantasies was going to send me right back to that place.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw Billy turn to look at me as his hand fell, but I continued making my way through the crowd. A plan formed in my head as I walked. One drink. Find Cheyenne. Go back to the office. Distance myself from Billy Comfort.

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