Before she could say anything else, he was slamming the door closed behind him. She couldn’t believe it. She stared at the closed door, not sure what to do.
“You son-of-a-bitch.”
What the hell had gone wrong? All she wanted was to know how he felt. She flung herself back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Why was he so difficult? If he wanted her, he would just say it, right? God, she was so confused, and she didn’t even have anyone to talk to because her best friend had just stormed out.
The door opened, and Bailey jumped. Ryan rushed inside, walked to the corner of the room, picked up his notepad, stuffed it into his pocket, and walked back out without looking at her.
“Ryan!”
He didn’t even glance at her before he slammed the door behind him again.
“Fine, you jerk.” She went into the bathroom, fixed her hair, and freshened her makeup, then put on the nicest—and best fitting—dress she’d brought with her.
When she entered the bar, Ryan was in the corner, writing in his little notepad. The place was busier than the night before. Most of the people were in suits. The hotel must have been hosting a conference or something.
She decided that if Ryan looked up at her, she would walk over there. If he didn’t, she’d sit at the bar and leave him be. After another thirty seconds, he still hadn’t glanced up, so she picked a stool at the end of the bar and ordered a margarita with a shot of tequila on the side.
The business suits were a bit rowdier than she would have expected. She sipped on her margarita for a few minutes, trying not to watch Ryan. He was so engrossed in what he was writing, Bailey almost felt jealous. She could see him eyeing the piano, itching to play.
She knocked back the shot, and warmth rushed to her skin. The high she’d gained making out with Ryan had turned into frustration, but now it was fading, and she slowly started to relax.
When the bartender put down another shot, she started to protest.
“The guy at the end sent it over. Do you want it?”
She instinctively looked at Ryan, who was now engrossed in a conversation with a tall, blonde woman. Bailey looked at the bartender, confused, and he pointed to a man a few seats from Ryan, smiling at her. She stole another look at Ryan; he wasn’t paying any attention to her.
Bailey nodded at the man and accepted the drink, smiling her thanks. At least someone had noticed her.
Bailey sipped on the margarita and contemplated her next move. She didn’t know where to go from there. Her life was a disaster. Mom was gone, the only relative who seemed to have answers was freaking touring the country, aka hiding from her, and after everything Aunt Lucy had told her, she totally understood why her parents had moved away. Who would want to raise a family with an entire town judging every decision? People claimed not to be judgmental, but the fact was, most couldn’t help it.
Her mother couldn’t have a child, which was news to her. Bailey had no idea, but it explained why she’d fought so hard to adopt her. Bailey had always wanted brothers and sisters. She assumed she didn’t get them because of her father’s health, not her mother’s. She had always wanted a big family, big Christmas trees, and lots of noisy kids running through the house. Her insides ached at the thought. As much as she wanted it as a child, as an adult, she longed for it: a husband who worshiped her, kids to play with, mornings full of chaos and noise.
Someone took the stool next to her while the bartender put down another shot of tequila and another margarita. Bailey looked up quickly to see the man from the other end of the bar sitting next to her.
“Hello.” He held up his drink in a toast.
Bailey briefly felt like her privacy had been invaded. Although, she knew it had more to do with what she was thinking when he sat down next to her and less to do with the fact that he sat down next to her.
“Hi,” she said, looking over to see Ryan still deep in conversation with the blonde.
“Are you here for the conference?”
“No, I’m actually in town on family business. What kind of conference is it?”
“Library Association. It’s the ProLiteracy conference.”
“Oh, interesting.” Considering the suits, she’d expected big business.
“I’m John,” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers.
“Bailey,” she returned, wishing he’d just go away.
“What do you do, Bailey?”
She chuckled. “Nothing as noble as trying to bring down the adult illiteracy rate. I’m a small business owner. I own a boutique in South Lake Tahoe, California.”
“Someone has to sell souvenirs to the tourists. Lake Tahoe is a beautiful place. You must love it there.”
Bailey tried not the take his sell souvenirs to tourists crack personally. “I do love it there. I can’t wait to get home.”
She heard the familiar chords of one of her favorite songs bellow from the jukebox and fought a smile. It was James Morrison’s “One Last Chance.” Seconds later, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Ryan standing over her.
“Would you like to dance?”
Her head fell back on her shoulders, and she laughed quietly. “Sure.” She looked at the man next to her. “Excuse me.”
Ryan took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
“I have no rhythm, and you know that.”
“The beauty of being a girl is that you only have to follow my lead, and I promise not to lead you astray.”
“I don’t think this is a dancing type of bar,” she said, looking around.
He turned and faced her, placing his hands around her waist and pulling her closer. “I’m sorry for storming out on you.” His breath brushed her ear and caused a chill to run the length
