I’m gonna dance with Rusty like that.
I walk out onto the dance floor and Shana sees me and waves me over, and when I get there, she puts Rusty’s hand in mine. “Here. You take over,” she says, out of breath. “I got a drink order, but he’s just gettin’ started.” She winks, then smacks both our butts before she ducks off the dance floor and I lose her in the crowd.
Rusty grins, then bends down and puts his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my neck, and it gets me all tingly inside. “You ready to dance?” he asks. I nod. Oh yes, I’m ready to dance. He stands up with his eyes shining and his hair kind of tousled, and he’s looking at me again with those eyes.
“All right. Just follow me, okay?” I nod again, and when he puts a hand on the small of my back and pulls me in close, I decide I’d follow him right into the bathroom to make out if he wanted to. It’s so wrong, I know, but I’ve had enough tequila to make it seem a little bit right. I hope for a second I didn’t just say that out loud, then decide so what if I did. I wouldn’t take it back.
Rusty spins me out, then back in, and catches me, and we’re moving across the floor, and I’m laughing because I really didn’t know he could dance like this or that I wanted to kiss him so bad. I should do it right now, while we’re dancing and I’m brave.
I try to think for a second, but I don’t have time because we twist, back to back, arm over arm, then spin again, and now his hand’s on my waist, and wow that’s good. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna kiss him the next time he pulls me in. Which should be any second, because I think I’m getting these dance steps. He throws me out again with one hand, and his other one comes out of nowhere and grabs me, pulls me around his back, and in one more twist . . . we’re right there. Chest to chest. Closer than close. I lift my chin. He looks down at me. And it’s now or never. I’m gonna kiss Rusty.
25
I’m gonna die, I know it.
Tequila was gonna be the death of me, no doubt. I lay still. Didn’t dare move or even open my eyes just yet, because if I did either one, my head might honestly explode. Or I might throw up. Or both. I just lay there instead and tried to talk my body into going back to sleep for however long it would take for this feeling to go away. This had to be what death felt like. Either that or my first tequila hangover.
I almost gagged thinking about it. I’d taken that shot, and then Shana brought another one, and then . . . well . . . it had to have gone downhill from there, because everything after that was a series of fuzzy flashes: Wade Bowen up on stage . . . empty beer bottles and shot glasses all over the table . . . Rusty dancing with Shana . . . Rusty dancing with me. Me thinking it was a good idea to kiss Rusty . . .
Oh god.
I didn’t. Did I?
I rubbed my forehead, trying to somehow pull the answer out of the haze that had settled there, but the harder I tried, the more my head pounded. Maybe my brain was trying to protect me from the answer. No matter that it hadn’t bothered to remind me the night before what a bad idea kissing Rusty would be.
I rolled over and forced my eyes open. I was back in Celia and Bru’s guest room, still in last night’s clothes, boots and all. That was the sound of Bru and Rusty’s voices drifting down the hall, and the smell of bacon cooking. And that sudden watery feeling in my mouth? That was my stomach warning me I was about to pay for last night. I jumped up and ran for the bathroom, faster than I would’ve thought I could in my current state, and made it just in time. Barely.
After, I rinsed my mouth out and took a good look in the mirror. Not only did I feel like hell, I looked it too, eyes all red and puffy, wild, tangly hair. And . . . was that . . . marker on my collarbone? I leaned forward and squinted at the backward writing in the mirror. Wade B. Wow. I had Wade Bowen sign me. I didn’t know what was worse. That or the possibility I’d kissed Rusty. Or that I was gonna have to go out there and face him without knowing. Oh, god.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Honor? You all right in there, honey?” It was Celia.
“Yeah, I . . . was just about to get in the shower,” I said as brightly as I could.
“Okay. Well, I’m going into town to run a few errands. Anything you need for the rest of the trip? The Fed Ex guy dropped off that part early this morning, and Rusty says he should have you back on the road to Kyra Kelley before noon.”
“Really? That soon?” I thought I might throw up again. I knew we needed to get going, but the last thing I wanted to do today was hop back in the Pala and spend five or six uninterrupted hours with Rusty and a desert highway, even if we did make it and I got ahold of Kyra Kelley’s assistant—I reached in my skirt pocket for Ashley’s folded-up receipt with the number on it but came up empty. I patted and searched the other pockets with panicky hands. Nothing. Oh, no. No, no, no. I’d kept it on me since she gave it to me, a little piece of hope folded up in my pocket so I wouldn’t lose it. But then I lost the entire night, and now—
“I was going to pick up some snacks for you two,” Celia said through the door. “Anything else you need?”
That little piece of paper!
I strained against the fog in my memory, trying to figure out if I’d put it somewhere else—Celia’s truck, maybe, or my purse. But I hadn’t had one with me—so I slipped it into my pocket. That much I could remember.
“Honor? You sure you’re all right in there?”