“I thought I recognized you. Come on, girl! I need a partner!” She opens my door and takes my hand without hesitation. I stumble out, barely grabbing my phone from the dash as I go.
“Wait, I need to take my keys out and lock my car.”
She rolls her eyes playfully and waves her free hand as she leads me away from the vehicle.
“Two things about parking your car on this ranch. Always leave the keys in it in case you’re in the way and one of the guys needs to move it. And never worry about someone stealing it or something. My fiancé has a thousand security cameras and the people around here are as good as gold anyway.” the warmth in her voice makes me believe every word she says, and in a trance, I follow her into the building.
I drop my hand from hers as soon as I come face to face with the sea of happy people drinking and talking inside. Music fillsthe large space, sounding vintage and slightly scratchy like it’s coming from an old jukebox.
In the circle I grew up in, being invited to a “party” meant dressing up. But everyone here has casual jeans or shorts on, nothing fancy. They look comfortable and I feel like an idiot in my strappy heeled sandals and coral summer dress with puffy sleeves. It’s cute. But it’s not right.
The blonde girl that brought me inside skips toward the back of the room and I spin on my heel to turn around and walk out. I don’t belong here. This was a mistake. Instead of making my way to the door as I turn though, I slam into a wall of muscle with an “oof.”
Two large hands come up to wrap around my forearms to keep me from stumbling back. They’re large and strong and . . . familiar. These hands have been around my wrists before.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“Something came up and I need to leave,” I blurt out trying not to be distracted by his hands on me and his sexy low voice.
“Bullshit. You just got here, you can’t dip out already. B!” He shouts above the noise across the room.
I look to see whose attention he’s trying to get and the girl who brought me in waves us over.
“That’s my sister, Blythe. Let’s get a drink.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he spins me around and gently pushes me toward the kitchen.
When he reaches the fridge that looks as old as my grandpa and holds up a can of beer, I nod. He pops the top and hands it over to me. The first sip is bitter, but it helps with the nerves, so I take another drink and a deep breath.
“Is this where you live?” I ask, trying to channel the type of easy conversation that most people might start in a situation like this.
“Mmhm,” he nods while swallowing a drink of his beer. “Me, Tripp, and Heston. You’ll meet them too, they’re around here somewhere. Gage runs the place, but he and Blythe live at the big house past the creek. Come on, I'll show you around.”
Tripp. Heston. Gage. Blythe.
I repeat the slew of new names in my head to memorize them. The more I fight social situations, the more I tend to disassociate and forget everything that was said to me. I can’t do that right now. I don’t want to seem rude and I don’t want to come off uninterested so I continue to roll the names around in my mind until they plant roots there. They’re not going to like me anyway, but it’s worth the effort to avoid complete disgust from them.
“Who are all these other people?” I ask. Who has this many friends?
“Some guys work here part-time. Others are just buddies from around town.”
Apparently, he and his sister have a thing for handholding because he wraps his fingers around mine. His palm is rough in a delicious way and his hold is so firm as we weave our way through groups of people. I haven’t held hands with many guys before, but the ones I did always had soft skin and a delicate touch. This feels different and I don’t hate it at all.
“Up these stairs,” he points to a steep black iron staircase just off the kitchen, “is the loft. And down this hall is the bathroom if you need it. Past that are the bedrooms.”
The walls are a simple stained pine, reaching all the way up to a high ceiling lined with matching exposed beams. It’s not lavish or gaudy, but the sheer scale of the building has me looking up in awe.
Echoes of conversation and music continue to fill the area as he pulls me along, not stopping when he speaks. It’s a whirlwindof information and I quickly study the space around us and what he’s saying.
I don’t miss the way a few people do a double-take as we walk by them. It doesn’t feel scrutinizing, but most definitely curious. Instinctively, I shuffle closer to Warren hoping his large frame can hide me.
We come up to a long rectangular table covered in red plastic cups. It looks a little sticky and I have to blink away to stop thinking about how much I’d like to wipe it off.
“Sav, you’re with me!” Blythe beams. She holds her hand out toward me with a face-breaking grin. She’s standing at one head of the table with a bottle of beer and a ping pong ball in her hand that isn’t outstretched.
The wall of security that was Warren’s body moves toward the end of the table opposite his sister where he starts arranging the cups in a triangular shape and splashing a little bit of water from a pitcher in all of them.
Tentatively, I step toward Blythe and let her pull me in next to her. While she racks up our cups, I look around for something to fixate on so that I don’t think about what a terrible shot I am and how disappointed she’ll be when she finds that out. My gaze lands on a group sitting on a huge sectional in front of a stone fireplace that isn’t lit. They all erupt in laughter as a guy with a full sleeve of tattoos tells a story.
“That’s Tripp,” Blythe says with a laugh. “He’s a little insane but lovable. Great guy.”
