Jim Beam. He and the rest of his underage gang had been pouring it into their Cokes all night, and it had made him even cockier than usual.
At eighteen, he’d already had more than a little experience with girls. They liked him and he liked them. But by then, Alice was a grown woman.
It had taken courage (and cajoling from Bryce and their friends) to ask her if she wanted to dance. But he’d done it. He’d strutted over like a doofus, full of confidence he hadn’t deserved, and asked her to dance in front of his friends.
She’d said no before reminding him of Big Verde’s eleven o’clock curfew for unattended minors. He’d started to slink off, too embarrassed to correct her (he hadn’t been a minor), when she’d grabbed his arm. For a brief moment, he’d thought she’d changed her mind. But no. She gave him a brief lecture on the dangers of underage drinking (he absolutely had been guilty of that) before offering to drive him home.
He’d jerked his arm away, and Bryce and their buddies had howled with laughter as he crawled back with his hat in his hands and his tail between his legs.
The server startled him out of his reverie by placing the check on the table, and in an effort to hide the blush spreading across his face, Beau grabbed it and stared at it.
Dammit. The words blurred and vibrated and generally refused to cooperate. He squinted and reminded himself that he knew what it said, so he didn’t have to read it. They’d all had buffet plates and coffee.
He focused on the total.
Was that a nine or a six?
His skin prickled, sweat dripped down his back, and his pulse sped up. Bryce leaned over to take a look, but Beau shook his head.
Use logic. There are three people. The buffet is $21.95 per person. A nine doesn’t make sense. It has to be a six.
He effortlessly calculated the tip for the bill, wrote it on the ticket, and handed a credit card to the server.
Beau had been side-eyeing her all morning. Why? He hadn’t seemed upset over her knocking on his door. In fact, he’d seemed amused. Because of course he was. Everything was funny to Beau.
Yep. Everything was just a big old hilarious joke.
An old familiar hurt worked its way into her consciousness.
New Year’s Eve.
She’d been home from school for the holidays, and there was a dance at the VFW hall. Claire had been home for the holidays, too, and she’d asked Alice if she wanted to go. She and Claire hadn’t hung out in high school, but Alice had always liked her, so she’d nervously accepted.
She was in her first year of grad school, but as she’d walked into the hall, she’d felt sixteen again. And sixteen had not been a very good year. She’d been dorky. Nerdy. On the outside looking in. All the clichés had applied.
A band had played country music, and Claire was immediately whisked out onto the dance floor by someone they’d gone to school with. Alice had bought a beer—she’d needed something to hold—before assuming a position against the wall right between a fake tree and the American flag. A few folks smiled or said hello, but nobody stopped to talk.
She’d spotted two identical cowboy hats among the crowd, and realized in stunned amazement that they belonged to the Montgomery twins. And boy, had they grown up.
She’d spent five long years as the twins’ babysitter. They’d been hellions, and she’d survived countless pranks (including one that turned her skin orange), put out literal fires, and confiscated cigarettes, alcohol, and a magazine called Jugs. Their parents couldn’t leave them alone for more than ten minutes. No other babysitter ever came back a second time, but Alice survived out of sheer stubbornness and a consistent lack of anything else to do on a Saturday night. It hadn’t hurt that Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery were desperate and therefore paid her like she was the last living babysitter in Verde County, which she basically was as far as their boys were concerned.
The twins had resented her, of course. So, she’d been pleasantly surprised when Bryce approached her at the VFW hall with a smile and an outheld hand. He’d inquired about school, and they’d made small talk for a few minutes before he wandered off, leaving her by the potted plant. Beau, on the other hand, had ignored her completely. He’d been surrounded by girls, and, like last night at Jessica and Casey’s wedding, he’d danced with every single one.
By the end of the night, Alice had been more than ready to go home. And as the band announced the last song, the one that would usher in the New Year, Beau had sauntered over and asked her to dance. And behind him, his group of friends had been snickering and laughing.
That would have been bad enough, but then Alice had noticed the money. The boys had been holding dollar bills.
Beau had done it on a dare, making her the butt of his joke.
She might have gotten a little snarky—she didn’t remember exactly what was said—and Beau had strutted off to howls of laughter.
He’d grown up since then. But he obviously still liked to taunt her. Isn’t that what he’d been doing last night when he’d answered the door shirtless, with his jeans unbuttoned, smirking and oozing sex? He’d looked her up and down as if to say, What’s happening behind this door that’s keeping the entire hotel up is something you’ll never get.
Which was fine.
Because she didn’t want it.
Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She reached around to the extremely tight back pocket of Carmen’s cutoff shorts and yanked it out. It was her mother. Her parents were leaving for a month-long trip to Costa Rica today. It
