Her full lips pulled into an amused grin. “Daisy. Yours?”
“Beau,” I said. Any other girl would’ve been throwing herself at me, fawning, crying, playing coy, anything but being genuine. But not Daisy. She intrigued me. And for the first time in years, she pushed all those invasive Dakota thoughts clean out of my mind for a little bit. With my mind unclear and muddled with alcohol, I couldn’t think of a proper way to invite her to my bus without coming off as a complete sleaze ball, so I gave her a nod and climbed off the bar stool. “Nice meeting you, Daisy. Thanks for…”
My words trailed off. She hadn’t been my bartender. In fact, she hadn’t waited on me all night. I’d been there for hours and that was the first time I’d seen her.
She lifted her brows and laughed. “You want me to walk you home? That street gets pretty busy this time of night. I’d hate for you to become road kill on my watch.”
She tore off her apron and threw it on the counter, revealing a tiny hint of a waist wrapped in a studded belt buckle. A white cotton tank top hugged her upper body, displaying her rack and the way they bounced a little with each step. Daisy hooked her arm into my elbow as we headed outside.
The cool November night air brought a sobering shock to my system, and under the pale moonlight I found myself attracted to the first girl who’d made me do a double take since Dakota, and on the heels of recently discovering Dakota had married and moved on, I welcomed it, shoving what guilt I felt deep down until I could barely feel it anymore.
We ran across the busy road, our feet shuffling toward the bus under the shade of night.
“Wait a minute,” Daisy said as we approached the tour bus wrapped with my name and likeness. “That’s a fancy bus. Beau Mason, Beau Mason. That sounds familiar. It sounds kind of country. I don’t listen to country music.”
“Well, you’re missing out, sweetheart,” I drawled. I pulled open the door of the bus and climbed up. “You coming in, or are you just going to stand there pretending like you’re not intrigued by me?”
“I’m not,” she said with a shrug. “I’m not intrigued.”
“Right,” I smirked.
“I’ll come in,” she said, “but only to make sure you get to bed. I don’t want you hitting your head on something or throwing up all over yourself.”
“I’m not that far gone, sugar.”
She followed me up into the bus, and I reached for her hand to pull her in. It wasn’t quite fireworks. There wasn’t a spark. There was no magic. But it felt different. She wasn’t a groupie or a raving fan. She wasn’t crying or throwing herself at me. She was just authentic, and it’d been years since I’d been around anyone with the kind of authenticity that could put a man at ease.
She took a seat on a sofa inside my bus, running her hands along the fabric and taking it all in. “So you live on this thing?”
“I do,” I said, sitting next to her. She smelled like the bar. Like cigarettes and bourbon and spilled beer. But the second our eyes met, I forgot all about it. My glance fell to her lips and the way she tugged and toyed them as if it were second nature. But all I could think about was crushing them with mine.
And so I did.
No woman in years had ever told me no.
I’d been conditioned to function in one mode only whenever a pretty girl moseyed into my bus.
It was the only way I knew how to operate, like an entitled, arrogant little prick with too much money and not enough good sense to know the difference between breaking hearts and fulfilling fantasies. The only intelligent thing I'd ever done in my twenties was stay the fuck away from Dakota Andrews, though ironically, she was the only person who could bring me back down to earth.
With my lips on Daisy’s, my hand gripped the back of her neck, desperately tasting what I hoped might turn into something someday. Loneliness crushed me, and finding out Dakota had moved on for good sunk me like stone.
“Beau, stop! Stop!” Daisy pushed me off her, her brows furrowed. She stood up, tugging her top down into place. “Are you insane?”
My hand covered my mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, you weren’t.” She crossed her arms. But she hadn’t walked out yet. That was a good sign. “Do you normally kiss complete strangers like that?”
The truth? Yes.
“Only when they’re pretty like you,” I said, hoping for an ounce of redemption but knowing how utterly pathetic I sounded.
Daisy rolled her eyes. “You’ve got some work to do, Beau. I don’t know you, but something’s not right in there.” She pointed toward my heart. At least she wasn’t pointing to my head. “Maybe you’re looking for love. Maybe you’re lonely. Maybe I represent something you want. But you can’t just kiss me. Kissing is something you do with someone you love.” She clasped her hand across her heart. “To me, kissing is very personal. You can’t just kiss me, Beau. Not like that.”
I stood up, keeping a safe distance and resting my hands on my hips. “You’re right, Daisy. You’re right about everything. And I’m sorry.”
I brushed past her, heading toward the back of the bus.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
I turned to face her. “To bed.”
Her face fell a little, as if she didn’t quite want me to go yet. “You tired?”
“Not really.”
“We can still talk.” Her tone was lighter, a little airier than just a second ago. “As long as you don’t kiss me again.”
We collapsed back on the sofa, talking about life and everything in between until the sun came up. And when it was time for her to go, she slipped on a pair of sunglasses from her purse and stood up.
“That went by awful fast,” I said as the fatigue of the night before began to settle in. I glanced at my watch. My driver would be checking in soon. Most of my crew was on other buses or staying in hotels. My bus was my sanctuary – the only home I’d known in years. I glanced at Daisy standing there in her jeans and tank top, and I reached over to grab a tour jacket and handed it to her. “Looks pretty cold out there this morning.”
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Beau?” Daisy asked, slipping the jacket across her shoulders. “What do you do on the road during holidays?”
I’d completely forgotten it was Thanksgiving that week. Most days I didn’t know what day it was, though I knew fall had come because of the changing leaves. “Maybe get dinner at a diner with some of the guys?”
It was usually just another day for me. I’d call home. Say hi to my parents and sisters. That was the extent of my Thanksgivings these days.
“If you’re going to be in town tomorrow, you should come by my parents’ house,” she said. “We love having company. You’re more than welcome. I promise my family won’t bite.”