Slade’s mouth twitches.
Junior stares at me as the bartender stops in front of us.
“I need a bucket of beer and . . .” Slade says, as his hand slides around my waist to guide me in front of him and away from Junior.
Well, ok then.
I smile up at him. “Just water. Thank you.” I always seem to get myself into a mess, but at least Slade is going along with it.
I turn back to Junior. “You should take notes. Maybe try being a little less,” I weigh my head from side to side, “‘every woman’s gift’ and more ‘I hope someone will give my arrogant ass a shot.’”
He huffs a laugh, his amusement falling away. He eyes Slade, who he clearly thinks is far beneath him. “I hope this works out for you.”
I force a smile. “No, Junior. I hope things work out for you. Merry Christmas.”
Junior rolls his shoulders back and returns to the party.
“He’s a dick,” Slade says, keeping an arm on the bar and around me.
“Yep, but a small one.” I smile.
The corner of his mouth curls upward, and it’s like the tiniest glimmer of hope. “Do you know him?”
“Not really. He’s Griffin Macavoy’s son. He’s come into the office a few times.”
Slade’s eyes move over my head, his face falling into a deep scowl.
“So, I. . .just wanted to say Merry Christmas. You know, in case I don’t see you.”
His eyes remain over my head. “Are you going somewhere?”
I’d like to ask him the same thing, but more like if he’s already gone. “My mom is begging for us to come home next weekend.”
“You don’t want to?”
I inhale and let it out, frustration building with the small talk, as if I’ve once again trusted someone with something I shouldn’t have.
“I miss my mom, but the whole town will be made aware. I’m not sure I have the energy to deal with whispers and stares and questions. I’d had enough of that before I moved.” I shrug. “The trailer park community is having a big party, though.” I glance at my heels. “They’re like my family, so I don’t know.”
“Your mom still lives there?”
I stare at him, wondering what’s with all of the questions. “Yeah. All the neighbors would get together and stream my pageants. Theirony, huh?” I laugh. “My mom made sure it was the highlight of the community. Now, it’s just The Bachelor and potlucks.”
The bartender sets a bucket of beer and my water on the bar. I lift the glass. “Thanks for this.”
His eyes finally drop to mine. “Thanks for hitting on me.”
I stare at him, wanting to know everything that goes on inside his ruggedly gorgeous head.
“It’s not every day I get to buy a drink for Miss USA.”
Those lips curl up underneath his trim beard.
I roll my eyes, needing his smile to mean everything is ok between us.
I turn toward the party so I can go home. “Don’t feel too special, Tomcat. That is a former title that’s long dried up.”
I think I hear what might be a soft chuckle as I leave him with his bucket.