Ty didn’t get my pun on getting drunk (or laid, for that matter), but that’s okay. He was pretty to look at, thought I was amusing, and was standing beside me, making me feel less cynical and more like a girl wearing a smashing gown at the biggest ball in town. Cinderella never had it so good.
The band struck up “Wonderful Tonight,” and he hooked an eyebrow at me.
Dancing to a hokey song with pretty words? Ugh. I needed death metal. But the romance of it all made me nod. He took my hand and led me to the dance floor.
Ty placed my hand on his shoulder and pulled me close. “You do look wonderful tonight.”
Inside I may have rolled my eyes a little, but I also felt my heart contract. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones I’m dancing with,” he joked, setting his cheek against my forehead, the bristles of his beard rubbing in a more pleasurable way than I remembered. It had been many, many years since I had been held in a man’s arms, moving to soft music. Forgotten appreciation for the pressure of his hand on my lower back and the way his thighs brushed against mine summoned a sigh.
He pulled back and looked down at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I whispered, my gaze meeting his. “I had forgotten how much I liked to dance.”
And that’s when he kissed me.
I hadn’t expected it, but it was well done. Ty had plenty of practice, I’d no doubt, and I felt the unfamiliar stirring of desire lift its head from a long winter’s nap. His tongue sought entry, and I allowed it because, damn it, it felt so good to be wanted, to be claimed, to be just a girl who had no cares and could kiss a man on the dance floor anytime she wanted. Thankfully, the kiss was thorough, and not a mauling of my senses, so I enjoyed it immensely.
Ty lifted his head and murmured, “You taste like champagne.”
My answer was to set my head against his chest and move to the music, enjoying his arms around me. I caught sight of Amelia watching us. I had a flash of sympathy, but nothing too strong. She wanted him.
And I didn’t know what I was going to do with him.
A guy like Ty didn’t fit with a girl like me. I knew this, and I also knew I was allowing myself to entertain the idea of being with him, which was dangerous. Because he lived in a totally different world, one I would never work in. Oh sure, I would love to have money, but I couldn’t see myself hanging out with the Beccas and Amelias of the world. I didn’t have sorority letters or a private-school education. I couldn’t care less about the style of monogram chosen for an overpriced tote bag. The jewelry, the designer purses, and the gold designer belt buckles—all that worth signaling wasn’t something I would ever do. I liked quality things, sure, but I didn’t buy things so I could be in a social circle of acceptance.
I couldn’t see any of those ladies, Cricket included, helping me dye my hair purple for the Young Mutherf*ckers concert, binge-watching Zombie Death Wars, or cruising out to the sandbars of Caddo Lake to drink Jack and Coke with the welders and wildcatters of the ArkLaTex. Those girls’ world was a black American Express card. Mine was a black eye.
But Ty holding me in his arms on that dance floor made me feel like I didn’t have to worry about what people thought of me.
Hell, why was I worried about what these lame-ass people thought about me?
Of course, I still hadn’t told Ty or Cricket that I had spent two years in jail.
Ty kissed my temple and whispered, “Wanna get out of here?”
I knew what that meant—I wasn’t born yesterday. But I really wanted to get out of there, so I nodded. “Yeah. And do you think we can get something to eat? A Natchitoches meat pie and a mini–crab cake wasn’t nearly enough. No wonder half these people are bombed.”
Ty chuckled, taking my hand and leading me off the dance floor. “A burger sounds amazing.”
So we went to Head Honcho’s, a burger dive right off Centenary’s campus. It was mostly empty, just a few tables occupied by collegiate types with earbuds in, and we only got one double glance for strolling into a dive in our dressy duds. I didn’t want to ruin my dress, so I layered napkins, tucking them into my bodice, as we settled into cheeseburgers, tots, and cherry Cokes. Ty had chosen a booth in the far corner, and for a moment, with all the retro decor, I felt like we were in a fifties movie. Like a reverse characterization of The Outsiders with me being Ponyboy.
“So tell me about your family, Ty,” I said, realizing that I didn’t know too much about him. Maybe I needed to if I was going to go much further.
“Not much to tell. I grew up in Georgia. My mom and dad divorced when I was eight. My mom lives there with her third husband, who is a total asshole, so I don’t see her much. I’ve been ping-ponging between my parents for a while, but I usually stay with Dad. He has an investment company along with some other businesses. We also build housing projects and stuff like that. That’s why we moved here. He’s gathering some new investors for a real estate deal revolving around a retirement community. We hope to break ground in the fall. It’s a pretty big project and should make the investors a tidy profit.”
“Why come here?”
Ty shrugged a shoulder. “He had friends here. Grew up down around Alexandria.”
“Oh, that makes sense. So are you the attorney for his company?”
“Yeah. I graduated law school two years ago. I thought I would work for the company I interned with, but when Dad ran into his own lawsuit, he talked me into coming to work for him. I’m the guy who works the numbers and pulls permits and so on. Dealing with the government in any capacity is exhausting. Moves at the speed of a sloth.”
I snorted. “Sounds fun.”
“What about you? You said you have family around here. What’s the deal with yours?”
Here was the moment to tell him. To lay out my cards, talk about my mother, my absent father who called so rarely that I often forgot his voice. To talk about how my family could give the Corleones a run for their money. “Most of my family lives in north Shreveport. Remember that bar we went to?”
He popped a tot into his mouth and nodded. “Sure. The dickhead bartender and your, um, colorful cousin?”
“Yep. My cousin Griffin owns a tow truck company right next to the bar. My colorful cousin is a private investigator who leases space above the bar. The rest of the clan lives out near Caddo Lake. My grandmother has a place right outside Mooringsport. So we’re a little country.”
And a little criminal.
“I like country.”
“Oh, not gather-eggs-and-sip-lemonade country,” I laughed, teetering on whether to dive in or not. I knew I should give him the lay of the land, but I wasn’t ready to have him dump me in a burger joint in the middle of Shreveport.
“Well, good. I can’t imagine you barefoot, gathering eggs, and then making me lemonade,” he said, giving me a smile.
“Oh, I can do those things, though I would never go into the coop barefooted. I don’t like chicken poop between my toes,” I quipped, chickening out, poop or no poop. Admitting to someone that you’re a convict sort of puts a damper on any situation, unless it’s one in which you’re required to be a badass with some street cred.