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CHAPTER 22
Emmett
BE MYSELF AROUND.
That’s what I was going to say. Because there’s something about Julia that makes me want to let go a little bit. Ignore my hang-ups and rules and plans. To just… enjoy her.
And yet, relief courses through me as the waitress scribbles down my bourbon and Coke and turns to take Julia’s order. Her interruption saved me from myself. Because the last thing I need to do is tell Julia she’s the kind of company I can be myself around.
True as it may be.
If these past weeks have taught me anything, it’s that few people in the world know me well. And certainly, none of the women on the show. Hell, I don’t even know if any of them would humor me by walking into this bar.
Possibly Catherine—the prospect of socializing among the large, bearded men who rode in on the Harleys parked outside, who may or may not be operating outside the law, would enthrall her.
“Just a Sprite is good for me.” Julia smiles at the waitress, and I tilt my head at her.
That dress is criminal, but the way she piled her curls on her head to show off the curve of her neck is a fucking felony.
“You making me drink by myself, doll?”
One slender shoulder lifts, and I imagine hooking my finger under the strap that rests across her collarbone.
“Haven’t been big on drinking lately.”
My brows furrow. “Want me to get something else? I don’t need to.”
“No, no.” She waves me off, propping her arms on the table to inspect the dingy bar. She looks like a su
I can see the wheels turning in her head as she weighs her next words. Urging her to talk would be like spurring a bull at the wrong moment, and I know better than to do that.
Her round dark eyes meet mine, a tightness at their corners. “The allure of drinking socially since the cruise has been lost on me. You know?”
“How so?”
“It’s like…” She trails off and covers with a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I just don’t want to make bad choices under the influence. I don’t want to feel that out of control again.”
“You didn’t—”
She holds a hand up to stop me, her explanation coming fast, almost sounding guilty. “I know, I know. I considered that someone could roofie a Sprite too. I get it. But now, brand-name Rohypnol turns a drink blue when dissolved, so at least in a light-colored drink…” Another one-sided shrug. And my heart fucking breaks. It’s been over two years, and she’s still carrying that night with her.
“Jules. You didn’t make any bad choices. That’s what I was going to say.”
She blinks.
“You did nothing wrong that night.”
Her lips part, a ragged breath escaping between them as her slender fingers knit together. “We don’t have to talk about that.”
I lean forward, prop my elbows on the table, and drop the volume of my voice as the country music blares around us. “I will talk about that night anytime you feel ready. I will clarify any details you want. And I will tell you over and over again that you are not responsible for anything that happened.”
“Well, I could have—”
“Nah. No. No way. That guy is a piece of shit and a criminal. End of story. No excuses. Lock him up and throw away the key.”
She regards me carefully. “He’s doing some prison time for possession. At least, that’s the last I saw. I stopped looking him up after a while.”
“I didn’t. He got ten years. And he cried like a baby when they sentenced him.”
Now all I get are confused blinks. “How do you know that?”
My tongue presses into my cheek. This was never something I pla
“I testified. And I went to his sentencing. They take drug charges seriously in Florida. And that fucker could clearly afford a good lawyer to—”
“You went there?”
“What can I say? I’m a petty little bitch. And I was on the road near there anyway.”
Okay, near is relative. I’d been in the States. Boise, to be exact, which isn’t remotely close to Miami. But I’d only missed one tour date to make it there—something Carl had lost his mind over. Which wasn’t anything new. I’d endured his explosion and carried on without sparing him a single thought.
Rhett and Theo cracking jokes about me going on a bender? Don’t care.
It was just something I needed to do. It was closure.
Julia straightens across from me. Her shoulders shimmy, and she lifts her chin. It’s hard to tell over the noise in the loud bar, but I think she sniffs just once, wiggling her nose and glancing away with glassy eyes.
The server plops our drinks on the table and leaves without another word. No one comes here for first-class service. If she were friendly, I’d be disappointed in the experience. It’s why I like The Sugar Saloon—no one here is pretending to be something they’re not.
“You’re not as bad as everyone makes you out to be, you know that?” Julia finally a
I bark out a laugh before deadpa
She chuckles and gives her nose a quick wipe, shaking her head in disbelief. A series of whoops rings out around us as “Cadillac Ranch” blares through the speakers. Julia perks up as she watches other patrons flood the small dance floor.
“Would line dancing with your rival’s Goody Two-shoes little sister ruin your reputation?”
I take a sip of my bourbon and Coke, regarding her as the sugary drink slips down my throat. Goody Two-shoes? That’s not how I see her at all.
Trouble. Temptation. Tranquility.
Something about her soothes the restlessness inside of me. My eyes track the dark strands that lie flush against her cheek.
Yeah, I’d ruin my reputation several times over for this girl.
Which isn’t something I’ve ever felt before. It makes me want to duck and run. Tell her not to get her hopes up.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I push to stand and extend my hand to her. “Yeah, but I’ll take my chances.”
She grins and slips her hand into mine without a second thought. I lead her onto the dance floor where we both fall into step.
Her black boots next to my brown ones. Her hips swaying. Her infectious smile.
She’s blinding. And dancing with her—even with this space between us—is… fun.
When the song ends, she lays a hand over her chest to catch her breath and spins away, taking in the room around her with such awe. It’s like she’s never been to a dive bar before.
I have to step away and take a break from gawking at her. Which is why I spot the guy coming from a mile away.
“May I?” he asks me, like I have a say in what he’s about to do.
I nudge my chin in Julia’s direction. “Ask her. I’m not in charge here.”
She turns at the sound of my voice, her eyes giving the guy a wary look.
“Saw you from across the bar and wondered if you wanted to dance?”
He asks her with a mix of politeness and nervousness. There’s nothing objectively wrong with the guy. He looks like he’s about her age, clean-cut—too clean-cut. Maybe it’s the baggy jeans and white sneakers. Maybe he’s too polite. I can’t put my finger on why, but I decide I don’t like the guy.
From a brotherly perspective, that is. Parker would ice him out. Riley would eat him alive.
But Julia gives him an equally polite smile and says, “Sure,” right as the music changes and Shania Twain’s voice rings out through the bar.
I offer them both a nod and back away, my leaden feet dragging me toward a pillar beside the dance floor. With my shoulder braced against it, I cross my arms and watch Julia get spun around on the dance floor by some dopey-looking college bro.
The only reprieve I give myself from standing guard over her is to order another drink from our server when she passes by. When she returns with it, I sip at it, almost aggressively as I wait for this song to be over.
Who knew that “Any Man of Mine” was so painfully long.
Not me, that’s for fucking sure.
His hand on her waist. Their lips moving in friendly conversation. The poor guy has hearts in his eyes.
And who could blame him? She has that effect.
I shift my weight from foot to foot, antsy just having to stay away from her. I don’t know what this feeling is, but I don’t like it.
The moment the final note hits, I push off the chipped pillar and make a beeline for the girl in the red dress.
“Time’s up,” I grumble rudely before cutting in. There’s no may I or do you mind if.
I just take.
He steps back, looking alarmed by my abrupt arrival, but it’s clear he’s waiting for a dismissal from her, not just me.
But Julia steps closer to me. She reaches for me, her hand circling the underside of my forearm. “Thank you for the dance. Hope you have fun tonight,” she says before turning her attention back my way.
The first few notes of a slow song waft through the speakers, and she quirks a dark brow up at me.
“What?” I grump, reaching for her waist and drawing her in as I sway.
Her body rumbles with a knowing chuckle as she reaches up, hooking one arm behind my neck as she falls into step.
Then she throws me for a loop when she pulls my hand with the bourbon and Coke toward her. Dainty fingers folded over mine, she lifts the straw and takes a long sip, holding my gaze the entire time.
Her lips on that straw. Dark eyes homed in on mine. My brain fucking spirals.
“What happened to not drinking?”
She lifts one slender shoulder, the thin red strap pulling up over her elegant collarbone, before she really takes my breath away by simply stating, “Felt safe. Felt thirsty.”
Safe.
With me?
I blink a few times, wondering if I’m interpreting her casual comment correctly.
I twirl her out, then draw her back toward me, slipping her arm up over the back of my neck as my hand trails over her skin.
She smirks up at me, unaware of how caught off guard I am by her. By my own reaction to her.
“Pulling out all the stops on the dance floor, huh? What happened to you not being in charge?” Her tone is teasing as she straightens and slips her other arm over my shoulder.
“I lied.”
“Is that so?” She shakes her head, a teasing smile curving her lips. “James was such a sweet guy compared to you.”