Is this guy for real?
“I know it sounds juvenile, but there's something about the chase, you know? Gets me every damn time.” He shakes his head like he doesn't understand it himself.
“Well, I haven't decided anything yet.”
I lie. I don't owe him or this town anything. I refuse to play by their small-town rules by being an open book and letting them in. If I choose to move here I won’t feel the need to announce it to everyone. I'll work on the boats and maybe one day I can make this business profitable enough to relocate it to a city.
Dane’s eyes narrow and I can tell he's doing that whole psychic thing again. “Okay, but you’ll tell me first, right?”
I stare blankly at him. “Sure,” I say knowing that’s what he wants to hear.
“Dane!” the booming voice of a man in the back of the bar interrupts us.
“I'll be right back.” He pats the top of the bar and walks away.
My gaze follows him, and the man says something, and Dane shakes his head. Please tell me they aren't asking about me. I'm not in the mood to deal with this shit.
He returns a second later, taking my now empty beer and filling it up.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
Doesn't he have glasses to wash or something? Then I glance around at all the empty tables and stools. Guess not.
“I'm going back to my dad's.”
Why I'm even telling him my plans, I have no idea.
“Boring. Come out with me. I’m going to head to the next town over. They have a club.”
I gulp down my beer. “Like a dance club?” Setting my beer on the counter, I contemplate my decision.
“You know where you dance all night and grind with the ladies in hopes that they like what they feel?” He winks.
“With the hopes of getting to second base,” I deadpan, and he tilts his head. “I know what a dance club is. I'm from Portland, or has that bit of information not made it through the circuit?” The shit attitude in me shines through and boy do I remind myself more of my father with every passing second I stay in this town.
“Sorry. Portland.” The word sounds like it's painful for him to say. “The big city, right?”
I could argue we have more than one stoplight so it's bigger than Climax Cove, but I refrain.
“That's not what I meant.” I run my hand down my face before reaching for my glass.
As I'm swallowing the last of my beer a stream of light pours into the dark bar. Turning my attention toward the door, a girl walks in, her blonde hair swishing back and forth along her back. She bypasses me and heads over to the old men in the corner. Bending down she kisses the man on the cheek who was talking to Dane earlier. He smiles at her, and she moves around the table giving each man a hug and a friendly kiss.
She’s cute and with a couple of beers in me, it’s hard not to let my mind veer in the wrong direction.
She walks behind the bar. “Get out, Sara.” Dane points to the small opening she just came through.
Ignoring him, she pulls out a glass and grabs a bottle from the back, pouring and downing a shot in one swish.
“Fuck, Sara.” Dane leaves me and grabs the bottle from her.
She rolls her eyes, that attraction I saw when she first walked in vanishes. The last thing I need in my life is Gretchen the second.
He turns to me. “So, what do you say? Do you want to stay here for the potluck dinner at the Veteran’s Hall or do you want to come with me to the club?” He raises his eyebrows up and down.
“You’re going out tonight?” Sara, whoever she is, suddenly seems interested in what Dane has to say.
“I’m going. You’re not.” Dane casts a glare her way and holds her gaze for a second. Something passes between them but I have no idea what it’s about. Obviously, there’s a history there.
“You’re my brother, Dane, not my father.” She lets her bottom lip stick out in a pout for a second before she continues. “Besides, I need a break. Why do you think I’m here?”
Dane shakes his head with disgust and while the two of them continue their back and forth, the debate grows in my head. I could stay home and move the antennas around just so I can watch the news while eating a frozen pizza like last night. Or I could go let off some of the frustration and melancholy with what might end up being a new friend if I stick around this town.
“I'm in,” I say.
Sara beelines over to me and bends over the bar in front of me. Her breasts lay on the bar top like they’re on the menu. “Hmm ... you're George Kent's son, right?”
“Leave him alone, Sara,” Dane says behind her, but she pays him no attention.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Oh, tonight's going to be fun.” She grazes her finger down my arm.
My eyes catch Dane's and even though we’re not officially friends, only a dick would screw a buddy’s sister. Besides, I'm through with girls who love having a good time until they ruin the fun for everyone. And Sara screams the type you end up either having to carry home or cleaning up her vomit from your car.
I’ll pass.
Four
The “dance club” turns out to be more of a country line dancing bar. I sit on a stool at a table Dane secured for us—almost having to wrestle it away from a group of guys in cowboy hats who look like they fight for fun—watching the couples two-step around in a circle.
“Sorry, man, I guess they changed the night they have club music.” Dane sips his own beer next to me.
“It's okay.”
Nothing another beer can't solve. Seems to have been Sara’s view as well since she’s currently half two-stepping and half two-falling into her dance partner.
“You better handle your sister though, she's about one turn away from puking.” I tip the bottle of my beer toward the floor.
Her face is pale, and her partner is now holding all her weight in his arms.
Dane presses his lips together and pushes up off his stool, walking toward the pair.
I should’ve worked at the shop tonight. Gone through my dad’s client list, figured out what I'm going to do.
The guy drops Sara into Dane's arms and he drags her over to the table.
“I guess you're out of your misery early,” Dane says the smile he’s had on his face all night slipping from his lips.
“Here.” I lay down a twenty on the table and take one last sip of my beer.
Dane swings her over his shoulder, and I follow carrying her purse and jacket.
Dane disposes his sister in the back of his car, and the two of us pile in to make the half hour drive back to Climax Cove.
“Sorry, guess I'm not showing you a very good time.” The melancholy in his voice can be heard over the engine of his Mustang.
I study the road, still not used to driving around in the pitch black with only headlights showing the way.
“Don't worry about it,” I say, unable to pull my gaze away from the road, sure a deer or some other animal is going to jump in front of us.
Dane's one arm is swung over the steering wheel and his other arm in his lap. Casual and confident. He’s probably done this trek a hundred times.