And who am I kidding? I might be in remission but I’m not cured. The attention still tempts me, still begs me to do what I’ve always done. Compliment, flirt, tease, pull away, and make them come to me. On their knees.
My fists clench at my sides because I’ve worked too damn hard not to be this guy to let one woman and a stunted sexual encounter with the girl I love fuck it up.
“Want me to get you off in half an hour?”
Feisty, this one. She looks me directly in the eyes while she waits for my answer. A challenge in her sea-green stare tells me she’s a good-time girl up for anything and everything.
My cock twitches at her bold invitation and it’s like . . .
It’s like you’ve spent your entire life existing on sugar and empty carbs, cake and cookies, just because it was there and you had no restraint, and now another cupcake has rolled onto the floor in your direction and part of you thinks, Fuck it—what’s one more? But deep down you know you won’t be satisfied. There will be guilt. Shame and remorse. It’s wasteful, really. You’ve had a taste of the real thing. Been sated by gourmet steak and potatoes and indulged in perfection so everything else seems . . . slightly nauseating.
“Thanks for the offer. And please don’t be insulted—you’re gorgeous. Obviously. But I’m going to call it a night.” I nod toward where Levi is standing with his guitar player. “Lead singer is a decent guy. You should introduce yourself.”
Red is very confused by this. I am, too—a little. The old me would’ve told her to meet me out back or in the kitchen or wherever my mind could conjure up on the spot. Technically I should be cock-blocking the hell out of Eaton for his previous fuckup, but he was genuinely sorry and he’s the reason Leaving Amarillo got into Austin MusicFest to begin with, so in a weird way I kind of owe him. Guess this is the new me. Apparently I repay favors and shit. My addiction counselor would be so proud.
“Oh-kay,” she says slowly, with a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe I’ll do that. Your loss.”
“You’re absolutely right. Have a good night.” I nod curtly, dismissing her because I’m ready to be alone so I can figure out where the hell Dixie got off to. McKinley is dancing with the bride and Dallas is shooting the shit with his buddy the sound guy.
“Where did you go, Bluebird?” I mutter mostly to myself.
“Dance with me, drummer boy,” a voice calls out as I pass.
Well, shit. This time the woman making the demand is Robyn Breeland-Lark.
I may not be an expert on weddings, but I know you sure as hell don’t turn down the bride.
“Your wish is my command.” I smile and try not to bare my teeth at McKinley as he hands Robyn over to me.
She feels tiny and fragile in my arms and I’m almost afraid for her. She’s pregnant, something only a few people here know, which is nuts because Texas is Texas and shit gets around. Being privy to that delicate knowledge makes me feel like she’s made of glass, and I handle her accordingly.
“She’s outside decorating Dallas’s truck with lingerie and shaving cream and balloons and tin cans and all that silly, traditional stuff.”
“What?”
Robyn scoffs at me. “Come on, Gav. It may be my wedding day, so I’m a little distracted, but I know who you’re looking for. Who you’re always looking for.”
I smile in spite of the awkwardness of being busted. “Yeah? That obvious, huh?”
Robyn smiles and I realize she actually is glowing. I thought that was some sort of myth or a trick of lighting, but her skin seems to have a light of its own and it’s strangely comforting.
“Pretty obvious. You know what’s not obvious?”