Escaping Me (7 page)

* * *

When I told Mallory I was going to Pauly's, she practically raced me to the Jeep.  Didn't take much arm twisting to get my sister to go with me.  I figured if Cole was going to have Zeke there, it'd be nice for me to have some back up.

As soon as we walk through the door after sweet-talking Butch again, I find Cole and Zeke already bellied up to the bar with drinks in hand.  Cole is sans his hat tonight.  It is the first time I've seen him without it pulled down over his eyes, minus the peek he gave me when he flipped it backwards at the hardware store.  It is hard to tell whether his hair is black or brown because he keeps it buzzed pretty short.  Judging by the color of his eyebrows and the yummy chocolate color of his eyes, I guess brown.

“You made it.” He stands up and welcomes me with an awkward half hug.  I instantly feel guilty for putting him in the situation of having to pretend to be my friend.  He doesn’t want this.  He said it himself that he doesn’t want any more friends.

“
Hey boys,” Mallory gracefully interrupts the weird air that is surrounding my interaction with Cole.  “I'm Mallory. The cooler Vandaveer sister,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder against mine as if to tell me to relax.  “Which one of you is going to get me a drink?” Her eyes immediately settle on Zeke.  I should have known she'd come out with me to find a target.  Zeke is good looking, if you like that laid back, long-haired surfer boy look.  He doesn’t appear very country, but when he speaks up and motions for Mallory to sit next to him, his
good ole boy
comes through loud and clear.

“
Well come on down here, darlin',” he says with a wink.  “I'll get ya a drink.”  She steps between Cole and me and quickly settles in next to Zeke.

“
This should be interesting,” I laugh, taking the empty stool next to Cole.  I watch as he cautiously settles back in his seat.  My sister and Zeke are already involved in a debate over which kind of whiskey is smoother, leaving me and Cole in an uncomfortable silence.

“
So, tell me, Whit,” he finally says.  “How'd a girl like you end up here in a small town bar with your whiskey-drinking sister?  You two didn't grow up in the same house, did you?”

“
Is it that obvious?” I take a drink from the beer that appeared in front of me, courtesy of Mallory's newest play thing.  “Thanks, Zeke.”  He gives me a quick nod and returns his attention to Mal.

“
She's a little more comfortable in this setting than you are,” Cole notes as his observation.

I fill him in on Mom and Dad's divorce and Mallory's and my past living arrangements.  “I had a rough end to my sophomore year of college.  Walked in on my boyfriend sleeping with another girl.  So I'm here, staying with my mom and sister and using the summer to forget about being screwed over before I go back to college this fall.”

“That's tough.”  I watch as he takes a drink, wrapping his lips around the mouth of that amber-colored bottle. 
Lucky bottle.
If it had any feelings at all, it would be melting right now.  I know I am.  “So, he's your
ex-boyfriend
now?”

“
Absolutely,” I confirm.  “Cheating is a deal breaker.”

“
Good to know.”

“
Which part?” I ask, enjoying the flirtatious expression on his face.  “The ex-boyfriend part or the part about not putting up with cheaters?”

“
Both,” he answers.  I don't think he has any idea how attractive he is to me in that moment.  With the
friendly
boundaries dissolving between us with each passing minute, I really want him to just lay it out there and say he is interested.  He looks so good in the ripped up jeans and the plaid button-up shirt he is wearing.  Each short sleeve tightly hugs his biceps, showing off the scattering of tattoos he has.  I carefully try to make out their designs—a lightning bolt, a trail of animal prints, the bottom of the tribal design, that I know wraps around his shoulder—nothing too over the top but still interesting enough to make me want a closer look.

“
What's this?” I reach my finger up and trail it down the animal tracks.  I’m hoping he'll feel that spark that I feel every time he touches me.  He flinches at my contact. 
Maybe I am reading this situation all wrong
.  He doesn’t want me to touch him.  I quickly pull my hand back.  “Sorry.”

He smiles and shakes it off.  “It's okay.  Your fingers are just cold from the bottle.” He nods at my beer.  “They're deer tracks.  I like to hunt.”

I point at the lightning bolt, not wanting to incur the same reaction to my touch that he just had.  “And this one?”

“
Just a bad-ass looking lightning bolt,” he shrugs.  “I just liked that one.  Same with this one.” He raises up the sleeve on the opposite arm to reveal the tattoo I got a good look at earlier today.  “Just something to do, I guess.”

“
I like them,” I admit, noting the way he smiled.   “How about you?”

“
Do I like your tattoos?” He leans back in his seat, running his eyes over my bare shoulders and arms for ink.  “Well, I don't see any.”

“
You're not going to.” I laugh.  “Never got one.  Thought about it, but my dad said it was a bad idea,” I confess. 

“
You know, someday you're going to have to be a big girl and make your own decisions,” he jokes.  If he only knew how true those words are.  I should tell him my first decision as a big girl—to knock off this
friend
charade and see what happens when I tell him I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to have his hands on me.  If only I had the nerve to do it
.

“
I meant, what are you doing here in this town working at the lumber yard and drinking beer with me?”

“
Short version,” he answers.  “I was run out of the last place I lived.”

I laugh, but judging by his serious look, he wasn't joking.  “Oh.”

“I told you I was no good.”  The heaviness of this moment should make me take a step back.  I should be getting up off this barstool and take him at his word.  Cole Pritchett warned me before, but something about the way he is looking at me makes me believe that, despite how bad he thinks he is, there is something deep down in him that is worth the risk.  He knows as well as I do that we are not meant to be friends—or anything else for that matter.  Even though I believe he is telling me the truth, I don’t care.  I am just about to tell him so when a rush of blond hair storms behind us and a set of hands pulls Zeke from his barstool and pushes him to the ground.

“
What the fuck are you doing with your hands on my girlfriend?” Ricky hovers above Zeke, pulling him up by two fistfuls of the t-shirt he is wearing.

“
We hadn't got that far yet, junior,” Zeke fires back as he gets his feet underneath him and starts to stand up.

“
You're not going to either,” Ricky hisses, drawing his fist back and slamming it into Zeke's chin.

“
I suggest you chill the fuck out.” Cole quickly stands up.  In one fluid motion, he manages to grab the collar of Ricky's shirt and pull him up until he is nose to nose with him.  I feel myself literally on the edge of my seat as I watch the way each delicious muscle in Cole's arms tenses and tightens as he holds Ricky up.  The poor kid's feet are barely scraping the floor.  “Why don't you take a step back before you get your ass kicked.”

How am I turned on by this?
  I can’t catch my breath.  I can’t look away.  I can’t even bother to say that I don’t think fighting in the middle of bar is a good idea.  In fact, a little part of me is hoping Cole will let go of his restraint and knock the kid out.  I imagine the wild look in his eyes and the way his body would move in the heat of an attack.  Somehow, in my mind, all I can think about is how badly I want Cole to channel his obvious agitation into something a little more sexual, preferably with me on the receiving end.

“
Son of a bitch, Ricky,” Mallory snarls as she grabs Ricky and tugs him out the back door of the bar.  “You could fuck up a one-car parade, you know that?”

Cole takes in a deep breath, not moving from his position, as if he is fighting the urge to follow Ricky out the back door.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I place my hand on his shoulder.  Much like his reaction to me touching his tattoo, Cole shrugs away from me and moves back to his barstool.

“
I'm fine.”  The coldness in his voice may be directed at me, but he never looks in my direction.

“
That was your free pass, kid!” Zeke calls out as he climbs back into his seat.  “That little fucker's got a good swing on him,” he says as he rubs his jaw and takes a drink.

“
He got ya good.” Cole laughs, still avoiding eye contact with me, but I can feel him sneaking glances at me through the mirror behind the bar. 

I'd never seen a fight before.  The circle I ran in wasn't the throw-punches kind of crowd.  The way Ricky stormed through the door all hell-bent on keeping Zeke away from my sister was kind of exciting.  Even if Ricky is too stupid to see my sister was just toying with him. 

I start to wonder if Wesley would have done that for me.  The closest it ever came to that was the time Blake Normand asked for my phone number and Wesley threatened to have his BMW towed.  Not much fire behind that. 

I sit with an open mouth, dragging my finger across my bottom lip, staring at the back of Cole's head as he talks to Zeke, replaying his actions over and over again in my mind.  Each time I feel a charge run through my body, like it’s trying to shake my clothes off.

“You wanna dance?” I hear Zeke's voice call out and quickly realize how stupid I must look. 

“
Huh?” I mumble.  Cole turns around and his eyes finally find mine.  It is completely different from the way he was looking at me before the altercation.  He almost looks like he is guilty of something.

“
Do you want to dance while your sister gets a handle on her pet?” Zeke asks again, purposely slowing his inflection like I don’t speak English.

Cole's eyes hover on my lips, anticipating my answer.  He bites down on his bottom lip as though he may ask me not to go and instead stay and continue our conversation.  “Go on.  Dance with him.  He's wounded,” he forces out with a fake smile.  I don't know why I expected him to say anything else.  I should have listened when he said he’s no good.  He obviously has some anger management issues, and if he is going to run hot and cold all the time, maybe I should just cut my losses and move on before things get really complicated.

“Sure.” I make my way onto the dance floor with Zeke.  I turn back, giving Cole one more chance to beg me to stay put, but he already turned back around and is involved in a deep conversation with the bartender and her boobs. 

“
So, what's the deal with Mike Tyson?” Zeke asks as he slips his arms around my waist and we settle in for a platonic slow dance to a country ballad.  “Is he really her boyfriend?”

“
I'm not sure what their deal is.  I haven't been around long enough to sort that one out yet.”  I can’t pull my eyes from Cole, who is now laughing at whatever Miss Racktastic is saying.

“
Your sister really is almost eighteen, right?” He continues pumping me for information.  “She said she was, but I just want to make sure.”

“
She told you she's almost eighteen?” I lean back and look at him with a serious expression.  “She doesn't even have her license yet,” I tell him.  The look on his stunned face makes the tormenting that much more fun.  “I'm kidding!  Yes.  She will be eighteen next month.”

“
Oh, thank God!” he exclaims and we both start laughing.  “I mean, I'm only twenty, but that's still too old for a fifteen-year-old.”

“
You've got nothing to worry about.  She's fair game.”  Our fun is cut short when I see Cole and his new friend taking a shot together at the bar.  The interaction is painful to watch.

“
You'd rather be dancing with him, huh?” Zeke observes.

“
We're just friends,” I reiterate to myself.

“
Yep,” Zeke confirms with a disbelieving nod.  “That's what he keeps saying, too.”

Before I can ask what he is insinuating, Mallory is at our side.  “Mind if I cut in?”

“Nope.” I drop my arms from Zeke's neck and take a step back.

“
You send your little bodyguard home?” Zeke asks.

“
Sure did,” she says, slipping into my place.  “He's not going to be bothering us anymore tonight.” 

“
Thanks for the dance.”  I'm not even sure he hears me as I turn to walk away from them.  He is letting Mallory fawn over his bruised jaw, and he is pulling her body a lot closer to his than he did mine.

“
Hey,” Zeke calls out before I am off the dance floor. “Can you give Cole a ride?  I'm planning on taking your sister home.”  His forwardness is comical, but Mallory doesn’t seem to mind as she wraps herself up tighter in him.