Ava rose from the table. Even with the two inches his dress boots added to his height, Ava towered over him by five inches. She bent forward slightly and put her mouth by his ear. “Fess up, cowboy. You were worried one of us had been recognized.”
Her hot breath sent a tingle straight to his dick. Resisting temptation of turning his head and pressing a kiss at the base of her neck, he sidestepped her. “See ya over there.”
Chase secured a high-topped table in the middle of the room with both the bar and the dance floor in view. One thing he’d noticed over the years; patrons in small town bars were a diverse mix of people. Old-timers mingled with the younger set. No one was trying to act hip, cool or aloof. Or wear trendy clothes, although single ladies had done themselves up in tight clothes and rhinestones for a night on the town.
He purposely sought out places like this, as a reminder real cowboy country existed. Where small town values, hard work and integrity were as prized as a college degree. Where boots, jeans and hats were worn for both everyday and formal attire. Where no one looked at you funny for ordering cheap beer because most folks were on a budget. Where your neighbor would make sure you got home safely if you imbibed a little too much.
Would Ava see that? Understand it? Find it quaint? Or rural?
Ava slid next to him with a husky, “Hi.”
“Hey. What would you like to drink?”
“I don’t know. I’ll wander up to the bar and see what they’ve got.”
He lifted a brow. “You sure you’re goin’ to the bar to look for a…drink?”
“Yes. But it wouldn’t hurt to check out my other options.”
“Ain’t a lot of options. It’s a slow night.”
“So you’ve been screening me for me?” she asked doubtfully.
“A guy checking out other guys in a joint like this will get your ass thrown outta here faster than you can say ‘Brokeback’, trust me.”
Ava laughed.
He loved to hear her laugh. So sweetly melodic and yet completely unaffected.
The cocktail waitress stopped and Ava conferred with her in low tones before she ordered.
“What’d you decide on?”
A secretive smile bloomed and then she focused her attention elsewhere. “See that guy in the red plaid shirt? To your left? What do you think of him?”
“Him? Seriously? He’s too old for you.” Chase let his gaze wander, acting like he was playing along with the find-Ava-a-fuck-buddy game, when in all likelihood, he’d f**k up any man who laid a hand on her. “What about the dude in the bright blue shirt?”
“Eww. He’s got a ZZ Top beard. And I think there’s food in it.”
“You don’t like beards?”
“Only on Abraham Lincoln, Van Gogh and the aforementioned little ’ol band from Texas.”
“You coulda told me you hate the goatee I’m growin’,” he said a little shortly.
She reached over and tenderly stroked the bristly hair. “I didn’t say that. I like it. Your lips are perfectly framed and look so kissable. I wondered if it’d be soft or scratchy.”
Chase didn’t move. Hell, he didn’t breathe as her fingers repeatedly smoothed over his face, his whole face, not just the part with excess hair.
“I can’t believe how much it’s filled in. God. How many times a day do you have to shave?”
“When I’m on tour? Usually twice. Can’t stand how razor stubble feels on my face.”
“I’d like to feel your razor stubble on my face,” she murmured.
Maybe she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Or maybe she had.
The cocktail waitress floated a napkin on the table and placed a lowball glass in the center. “Took the bartender a minute to figure out how to make this.” She grinned. “Don’t get a lot of requests for that drink in here.”
When Ava opened her purse to pay, Chase put his hand over hers. He pulled money from his front shirt pocket and dropped it on the tray.
Ava didn’t speak until the waitress left. “I can buy my own drinks, Chase.”
“I know you can. You can also open your own door and pay for your supper, but that ain’t happening tonight, so deal with it.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. She took a healthy sip of her drink and said, “Wow. That’s good.”
“What is it?”
“Tie me to the bed and f**k me.”
Chase choked on his beer. Choked hard enough Ava had to pat him on the back. “What the hell did you just ask me to do to you?”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything to me, because I knew you’d say no. The name of my drink is called Tie me to the bed and f**k me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
She held up her hand in Scout’s honor pose. “It was the drink du jour at my friend Bella’s bachelorette party. And if you don’t believe me, ask the waitress.”
Right. Ava just wanted to hear him say that drink name out loud. In a honky-tonk bar. Not a chance.
They watched the dancers for three songs. Ava leaned closer. “See that older couple with matching blue shirts?” He nodded. “How long you think they’ve been together?”
“Probably their whole adult lives. Why?”
She released a wistful sigh. “They’re beautiful. So in tune with each other. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have that solid connection every day. I wish I had my video camera so I could capture their happiness.”
Maybe Ava did understand more than he credited her.
“By the way, when are you planning to teach me to two-step?”
“I’m not.”
“Do you dance?”
“Yep.”
She frowned. “But you don’t want to dance with me?”
“Drop it, Ava.”
Of course she didn’t. “I’ll only put up with so much high-handed behavior, and you’re pissing me off. Answer the question. Why don’t you want to dance with me?”
“Because I’m short,” he snapped.
About twenty seconds passed before she was in his face. “That’s it? That’s your reason for not dancing with me? Here’s where I tell you that is not a valid reason. That’s a sucky reason.”
“It’s a valid reason to me. Christ, Ava, you’re a good three inches taller than me when you’re not wearing them three-inch f**k-me heels. I will not make a goddamn spectacle of myself with you towering over me like I’m some kinda midget, getting my jollies burying my face in your chest, no matter how much the latter appeals to me.” Dammit. Not a good time to spout that confession. “You wanna talk about drawing attention to us? Trust me, that’d do it.”