Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“I think I’ll make sure he isn’t loading up a bunch of Carly Rae Jepsen or something,” I mumble, getting up to follow Wyatt, my eyes locked on his broad back and tight buns as he looks at the selections on the digital screen.
He doesn’t look my way when I walk up beside him, as though he knew I’d follow. That irks me. I’m not one of these lovesick, or horny, women he can lead around like a puppy on a leash.
“I’m surprised,” he says as he pushes a button and the screen changes. “I thought you’d have an old-school box here, not digital.”
I ignore his comment and lean in. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Hmmm?” he asks, dropping a quarter in and punching in a code. A few seconds later, Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” starts playing, and Wyatt moves on.
I try again. “You’re flirting with the wrong bridesmaid, Wyatt. That one over there is an easy bet,” I tell him, pointing over at Rachel. “I’m not going to play with your balls anytime soon, but you could probably have her in a bathroom stall with a crook of your finger. No shame in that,” I clarify. “Rachel’s a sweetheart, and a bathroom romp with a hot stranger would be one of those naughty stories she looks back on fondly for the rest of her life.”
Wyatt chuckles and cuts his eyes to me, smirking. With him leaned over the jukebox, he knows it’s just him and me here, and there’s nobody’s feelings to protect other than our own. “Maybe I don’t want easy,” he says. “Maybe easy is boring, even if it is a quickie in a bar bathroom with a hot stranger.” He pauses, looking me up and down. “Maybe I want something more than that.”
I blink, surprised.
So quiet I almost miss it, he says, “Or maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.” Before I can question that, he punches in another code on the jukebox, then another. “Okay,” he says, stepping back. “So in about ten minutes, you can blame ‘I Want It That Way’ on Winston.”
“You’re kidding . . . That’s on the jukebox?” I ask, and he nods. “Fuck.”
We go back to the table, and true to his word, the Backstreet Boys’ song does play. To my surprise, Winston cheers, singing along as he serenades Avery, who laughs along with him. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve done this together, and I smile at the mental image of them singing and dancing around together at home to old boy band songs.
By the chorus, Wyatt joins in, the two brothers harmonizing at various points, and I’m half expecting them to break out into a choreographed dance routine. As the bar realizes what’s happening, they start singing backup for Winston, and it becomes an entire concert with Winston and Avery as the center stage stars.
But Wyatt’s eyes aren’t on Avery, or Rachel, or Charlene. And they’re definitely not on his brother, who’s kneeling and holding Avery’s hand now. Wyatt’s eyes stay on me as he sings, and heat fills my chest. I find myself fighting the urge to meet his eyes, and I know I’m probably blushing, even if I should be weirded out that Wyatt Ford’s singing an old love song to me while staring at me like a creeper.
But it’s powerful, knowing I’m the sole focus of his attention. It’s like I’m driving him crazy, and I decide to lean into it, giving him a wink and playing with the straw on my drink. It’s subtle, but he seems to respond to that more than having it thrown in his face. Or he just responds to me . . . regardless of what I’m offering.
I decide to test that.
While I’m figuring out my next move, the Backstreet Boys song ends and Wren runs to the jukebox, shouting, “Our turn!”
The next song starts, and I catch Wren’s suggestion that we do a performance in answer to the one Winston and Wyatt, and most of the bar, just gave.
Game. On.
I know how to work my assets—I’m a waitress, after all—so I run with Wren’s idea.
“On the bar!” I call, and Charlene and Aunt Etta both give me raised eyebrows, but when a soon-to-be bride wants to dance for her man to “Side To Side,” there really isn’t anyplace better than on top of the bar, or on top of the table.
Since we can’t fit more than one person on the table, the bar’s the place to do it. Wren pulls Avery up, and I join them a moment later, dancing along with the other two. Rachel defers, shaking her head when Avery waves her up, but Charlene joins in to the hoots and hollers of the entire bar.
But even as the four of us do some halfway decent hip shaking and even a coordinated booty drop that leaves quite a few tongues wagging when we bring it up slow, I’m not dancing for the crowd.