From my peripheral, I can see her scan me like she’s assessing my expression. “I’m not everyone. I was yours. And you were the only one who couldn’t see it.”
My jaw ticks, and my chest squeezes again. I look over at Hope, who’s got her eyes set forward now, her hardened features exposing how much she still cares. All we’ve ever done is fight our feelings for each other. What a waste of a life.
“It’s not that I didn’t see it,” I say, and she meets my gaze. “It’s that I didn’t believe I deserved it.”
She nods. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that.”
Now, that I can agree with.
I open the door to the saloon and let her walk in first then make my way behind the bar. She wanders around the small room, checking out in awe the dark-green interior walls, antique art I found locked away in my dad’s shed, and the cherrywood seating.
“You continue to amaze me, Bexley.” She walks up to the bar wearing a smile. “So, what are we having?”
Hope always loved the fruity stuff. Knowing that, inspiration hits me quickly. “It’s a tequila punch for you.”
She laughs. “A what?”
I grin and focus on mixing her drink. I’m far from what a bartender should be, but it’s funny how much you learn when you’re interviewing potential candidates for a role. After the first set of bartenders came in, I realized I was clueless on how to run a bar, let alone know who would be a good fit to run one. So I watched some videos, memorized a long list of drinks, and created a menu I thought fit the saloon. I plan to start hiring as soon as I get my liquor license.
“You’ll love it,” I promise her with a wink. “Just hand over your keys because you aren’t driving after this one.”
“Har har,” she says to my joke. Then she twists and points to the far end wall of the bar where the dartboard hangs. “Looks like we can have that competition tonight.”
“I thought you wanted us both to be sober for that.”
“Sober or drunk, what’s the difference? As long as we’re on equal footing.”
I nod. “All right, but I warn you. I’m better than I used to be.”
She quirks a brow. “We’ll see about that.”
At some point while I’m still making her drink, she hops off the stool and heads to the jukebox in the corner of the room. “Pick something good.”
She grins and starts punching buttons. The second Bebe Rexha’s “Meant to Be” starts to play, I throw my head back and laugh. How could I have forgotten about drunk karaoke on our off nights in my living room? Those were some of the few times when I might have let loose a little as I belted a terrible version of Florida Georgia Line’s lyrics in the song.
Hope points to me as though I’ll break out in song right now, but I shake my head, refusing. “C’mon!” she calls out.
I laugh again. “Not drunk enough, Sparky. Nice try.” I put the cover on the shaker and mix up the punch before pouring it over ice and walking the drink over to her. She’s deep into the song, singing Bebe Rexha’s parts like she used to—complete with an ass shake to the beat and those sexy eyes batting up at mine.
“Try that and tell me what you think.”
She takes a sip, her hips still swaying to the beat before her eyes roll back after the liquid slides down her throat. “Holy shit, Anderson. That’s really good.” Her eyes get bigger, and she takes a longer sip until half of it is gone. “Where’s yours?”
I make a face and start to head back to the bar. “That one’s a little too fruity for me.”
She grabs my hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Wait. You made mine. Let me make yours.”
I laugh. “No way. I’ll end up with the biggest fucking hangover. I’m a straight-shot-of-bourbon kind of guy.”
She rolls her eyes and walks past me. “Yes, I remember. I’ve got this.”
A minute later, she brings over a tray of two different types of shots and sets them on the high-top table. “There. Tequila Rose for me. Bourbon for you. You have to take a shot for every game you lose.”
I scoff at her ridiculous proposal. “Terrible idea. We both know you’re the one who will be drowning in shots by the end of tonight.”
She tilts her head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You have very little faith in my dart playing.”
“No, I just have a lot of confidence in mine.”
She picks up a shot and hands it to me. “Time to catch up. And then we begin.”
With a wink, she waits. I down my shot and pick up another one, still fighting off exotic images of a Hope bringing herself to orgasm and all the fantasies that come with it. What I would give to be the one pleasuring her in every way possible.
“Hello, Earth to Anderson. You’re up.”
I jump forward to the dartboard. “Shit, sorry.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Silence follows. There’s no way in hell I’m answering that, but she must catch on, because she sighs. “Can we forget that little incident earlier ever happened?”
I pluck the blue darts from the pocket and walk toward her with a furrowed brow. “Forget that I saw you naked and getting yourself off? Probably not.”
Hope glares. “Wow, you can’t even be subtle about it.”
I shrug. “I’m not going to lie to you. The truth is there’s no chance of me getting that out of my head. Not ever.”
She growls and knocks her hip into mine. “You’re so frustrating.”
“I could say the same about you.”
She sighs. “I need another shot. Take one with me.” She hands a glass to me, and we both go for it. The burn lighting a path down my chest feels better than I should admit.
Three games and far too many shots later, she’s leaning against the wood wall near the dartboard, her eyes slowly dragging to mine. Before she says a word, I already know what’s on her mind because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Nor do I want to.
Her eyes linger on mine while she chews on her bottom lip, a clear debate going off in her mind. “Can I ask you something that might make you uncomfortable?”
“Sure.”
“Did you like it?”
I almost choke on the last of the liquid still clearing my throat. My eyes widen, and I assess her bright blush and shallowed breaths. “Did I like what?”
She purses her lips. “Did you like what you saw tonight?”
“You mean did I like your body? Or… the act?”
“I don’t know. All of it. Call me curious, but I want to know.”
“Well, Curious. Yes, I did. I happened to like it a lot.” I debate whether to leave it at that, but we’ve come this far. “You’re beautiful, Hope. In every way. Body, heart, and soul. You just happen to have a superb body. And as far as the act… it was quite impressive.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a laugh. “I’m sorry I asked.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. For someone who models the act of always seeing the positives, she has a terrible habit of downplaying her own charm. I walk toward her and pluck my darts from the board then deposit them in the cup. “Don’t be sorry,” I say, quiet enough for her to hear. I slide my gaze to catch hers. “You should know you’re perfect.”