I crane my neck to the hours on the window. Sure enough, they closed at eight. Figures. Oh well, no use in getting angry. I can’t do anything about it until tomorrow. “It’s alright. You mind just dropping me off at my hotel? I’ll get a shuttle back here in the morning.”
“Sure. Actually, I’m starving. You guys want to get a bite to eat? Ann, I’m sure you haven’t had real Mexican food in ages.”
The words must have sent some sort of signal to Ann’s belly because her stomach growls, and the three of us howl in laughter. It’s a nice release.
“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.” Ann giggles, patting her stomach.
The tension breaks and we decide to leave the issues behind for a while.
We ride in comfortable silence for a bit, cruising down the freeway when my phone buzzes. It’s a text, from Aiden—God I hope he hasn’t gotten into trouble already.
Aiden: You bang her yet?
Of course. I roll my eyes, even though he obviously can’t see. Unintentionally though, a smile creeps onto my face thinking about being with Ann.
Me: No, asshole. How’s the ranch?
Aiden: Fine. Don’t worry about the ranch. The guys and I have it covered.
That much I’m appreciative of. Aiden may be young but I know I can count on him to take care of things.
Aiden doesn’t wait for a reply.
Aiden: So tell me, is she hot?
Me: Holy shit, asswipe, she’s my client.
Aiden: Don’t care.
I don’t reply. He could play at this all night long. I crack a smile at my brother and put my phone back in the pocket of my jeans.
Not five minutes later, he texts again.
Aiden: That must mean yes. Just answer this question, brother. Is she hotter than Lauren?
I dated Lauren a few years ago. Beautiful, blonde, tall, tan and incredibly superficial. Which is now something I have a hard time overlooking when it comes to dating. She cared more about where she was getting her next outfit than doing much else. At the time, I was young, and didn’t care. And if I hadn’t met Ann, I would have told you she was the hottest woman I’ve ever met, but Ann blows her out of the water. No competition.
Me: Jesus, yes.
Aiden: No need to call me names.
I grin. Smartass.
Aiden: What are you going to do about it?
Me: Nothing.
Fucking liar.
Aiden: Sure. Have a good night, brother.
There’s no use replying because I’m more than positive he’s not going to believe anything I say. Hell, my head and my heart aren’t exactly agreeing right now, why would I expect anyone else to believe the bullshit?
Jason and Ann talk about which restaurant to go to. Let me rephrase, when I say talking, I really mean arguing. They act like brother and sister. It’s almost like a comedy listening to them banter back and forth.
It doesn’t take long for them to agree on a place, so when we pull into a Mexican looking restaurant, my hunger thanks them. It’s been ages since I ate.
“We’re heeeereeee,” they sing in unison.
I turn in my seat and level my gaze at them in question.
They exit the car, giving no explanation.
Shutting the door as I exit, I turn around and smile at them. “Not that I didn’t think it was remarkable, but what the heck was that?”
Ann moves to my side, and I fight the urge to bring her into my waist.
“The singing?” She clarifies.
I nod, and look at Jason. He’s got a wide grin on his face and shakes his head as he strides to the entrance of the restaurant.
“We’ve been doing that since we were young enough to sing,” he explains. “We do it with everything. I’ve never thought it was weird until I heard someone not in our circle of friends mention it.”
“I don’t think it’s weird. Honestly, I think it’s cool, but in perfect harmony? How does that happen?” I coax. I’ve been known to sing a song or two but never in such perfect sync with another person. They seem like they were born to sing together.
Ann steps closer to me, unintentionally—I think. But she’s so damn close, I feel her warmth, and my skin tingles. “We’ve had training. Sang together in school, and community theater. He’s the bass to my soprano.” Her eyes sparkle when Jason winks at her.
Maneuvering our way through the crowded restaurant, the hostess seats us in a booth in the back. There isn’t much light, but the tables are lit with candles. It could definitely be considered romantic, but right now, it just feels—welcoming.
“So, you’ve been singing for a really long time, Ann?” I prod as I slide into the booth. I’m the first to sit, so Jason slides in on the other side. There’s a slight hesitation in Ann’s eyes, then she seems to work something out in her mind and slides into the booth next to Jason. It’s fine with me; I’d rather be able to see her.
Ann looks at me through her lashes, almost as if she’s thinking the same thing I am.
The waitress shuffles to our table, quickly drops off our chips and salsa and scurries away.
“Yeah, for most of my life,” she says carelessly while dipping her first chip.
She has an amazing voice. One that’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard—a voice all her own. It makes me wonder why she hasn’t pursued that life. It seems to me, the world needs to hear her.
“That’s kind of amazing, Red.”
She waves off my compliment. “I would probably still be doing it if…”
She trails off and jerks her eyes to Jason. He nods in one abrupt movement and she looks back to me with an anxious expression—maybe even a little scared? I can’t quite tell. Not being able to decipher the two makes me concerned. I want to know those things. I study her face, trying to piece the puzzle together but I come up short.
Avoiding my gaze, Ann lifts the menu and shields her face.
I’m missing something big, here.
When the waitress reappears, she takes our orders and attempts small talk with me. Her low cut blouse and the tight jeans she’s flaunting in my face do nothing for me: I want the woman sitting a foot from me. The woman who I’m supposed to keep at arm’s length.
One smile, one glance, one blush at a time, and I’m having serious trouble trying to resist her.
Again, moron, figure out a way to make this work.
Every glimpse, every smile, every damn touch is so intimate it sends me reeling. I’m floating every time I’m around her. Each minute—no, each second, I’m in her presence I’m like an alcoholic to liquor. I constantly feel the need to reach for the bottle and take another swig, even though I know it’s not good for me.
It’s angering, and maddening and exhilarating. It’s a feeling I’ve been missing in my life since...well since ever. I’ve never been in love, obviously. Lauren was the closest thing I’ve ever had to love, and I wasn’t even in the ballpark of love. Hell, I wasn’t even in the same city. She made me think I wanted to love her, but she was, and still is, a manipulator. It’s what she does. She makes you think she’s this perfect woman then, as soon as you start to let your walls down, she turns into a man-eating anaconda. Once she sees she has your heart, she squeezes the life from it until it’s dead, flopping on the ground for life. I’m just glad I didn’t get in too deep with her. Had I not seen the “other” masks she wore, I’d be in some serious trouble.
The table falls silent during my inner tirade. Jason and Ann managed to drink most of their margaritas and I hadn’t even noticed mine. Lifting the frozen glass to my lips, I savor the icy drink. It’s a pleasant change to the sordid heat outside.
“So, Duane,” Jason quips, “what do you do? You know, other than being a lawyer for our girl?”
I let the “our girl” statement slide, and set my drink down. Ann twirls the straw in her empty cup waiting for my answer.
“My family has owned a ranch for most of my life, so when I’m not working at the office I’m usually doing something there.” I stop to smile. “I have a few horses, a couple cows and chickens. It’s hay season right now, so we bale hay most days.”
Jason’s head perks up. “You harvest hay?”
I nod and take a drink. “Yeah, it’s a working hay farm.”
Jason looks to Ann and raises his eyebrows in suggestion, then looks back at me. “So that’s why.”
I’m confused. “That’s why, what?”
Jason stifles laughter and Ann shakes her head at him before speaking.
“You smell like alfalfa sometimes.” She pauses as if anticipating what to say next. “It’s one of my most favorite smells in the world.”
Good to know. It’s one of my favorite smells as well. It smells like home.
“So, that’s why you were sniffing me the other day?” I joke.
Ann starts to sputter and blush. It’s almost too much to take; she is amazingly adorable. “I’m just kidding. I know you weren’t sniffing me.”
Ann regains her composure and nudges me under the table with her foot. “Hey, Cowboy, I’ll smell if I want.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Smell me anytime. Go on, take a big wiff right now.” I waft my hands in front of me.
This time, she kicks my shin full force and I quietly wince. Those Converse can do some damage when they want to. Holy crap, that woman can pack a good kick.
She smiles like a damn Cheshire cat and waggles her eyebrows, challenging me.
“So, anyway,” Jason speaks up. “You have a girlfriend, Duane?”
Ann breaks out in a fit of coughs, trying to hide her awkwardness. She hisses Jason’s name under her breath and he glances sideways at her, unapologetically.
“What?” He asks.
“Will you shut your damn school-girl mouth?” Ann whispers.
I have to laugh at her name for Jason. He looks quite rugged, but he evidently likes the gossip.
I decide to answer honestly. “No, I haven’t had one in a very long time.”
Jason brings his elbows up to the edge of the colorful patterned table and clasps his hands together, ready to fire twenty-one questions my way. “How long is a long time?”
Yep, I knew that one was coming.
The waitress brings us another round of margaritas. I grab mine, lick the salt and take another big gulp—preparing myself. “Almost three years.”
Ann spits in her drink, coughs and grabs at her chest. Jason, being the good friend, reacts and pats her back.
I grin at her reaction.
Once she’s wiped the drink from her chin, Ann sets her fishbowl-sized glass down. “Three years? What? How?”
“What? How? What do you mean?” I ask, almost proud of myself.
Jason, being the instigator he is, shoots Ann a wink.
“Have you met you, Duane?” Ann asks, gesturing both her hands in my direction.
I look around. “What does that mean? I meet me every day. I’m pretty awesome.”
Ann mutters “smartass” under her breath, and laughs. “Shut up. You are kind of gorgeous. You’ve got to know that. How is it possible you haven’t had a girlfriend in that long?”
“Guess I haven’t found the right girl.” I shrug one shoulder.
Ann lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll say.”
“What about you?” I ask.
“Let me give you the short answer, man.” Jason sighs and shakes his head, lifting his hand to wave off the question. “She hasn’t had a serious boyfriend since before we graduated.”
“College?” I question.
Ann shoots Jason a stern look, and he pats her shoulder. “No. High school.”
It’s my turn to sputter. Green margarita shoots from my mouth before I can stop it. It sprays all over Jason and Ann, like the damn exorcist. I frantically grab napkins and toss them across the table. They wipe themselves off, both giggling like girls, reaffirming Ann’s girly nickname for Jason.
“Oh my God, Linda Blaire,” Ann says between fits of laughter.
See? Exorcist. I officially lost my hotness factor the day I met Ann—not that I’ve ever really had one. She has me looking like a dork at every turn. She brings it out in me, I guess.
“High school, huh? Interesting,” I remark.
“Yes, high school. I just haven’t found the right guy to sweep me off my feet,” she states dramatically with a twinge of sarcasm, though I know she’s fully truthful.
Point taken. Ann needs to be swept off her feet. Check—I can take on that challenge.
Our feast finally arrives and we dig in. There’s so much food in front of us that we decide to share plates. One-by-one, we load up our plates and devour, what I can only describe as the most amazing food I’ve ever had. It’s fried and greasy. Everything us Southerners love. I don’t know why we haven’t perfected the art of Mexican food in Nashville. You’d think we’d jump on the bandwagon and make some serious money selling this stuff.
“Holy crap, I’m stuffed,” Ann states as she sets her fork down ten minutes into the meal. “I think I ate more than you two, combined.”
She’s crazy, there’s no way she ate more than Jason and I. She’s lucky she got a full plate with the two of us sitting here. Praise God, she’s not one of those women who eat like a rabbit. Let’s be honest, that’s ridiculous. I don’t know any man who wants to date someone who’d only eat rabbit food out on a date. Guys want a woman who can cook and eat a good hearty meal—steak and potatoes. Word to the wise ladies; eat what you really want to. Hell, eat messy ribs. Meat is sexy. Yes, I said it. Women eating meat is sexy. I don’t know if it’s our fucked up brains thinking about your mouth in perverted ways, but it does something for us.