3. Dusty

Sometimes, you need a break from being happy.

Usually, I can put my dark thoughts in a box somewhere and just cut loose. But tonight, those fears just won’t stay where I stuff them. I thought I might drown them out.

But sometimes, beer just don’t work fast enough.

Skyler and I stand next to each other, watching Bo and Josh dance with their women.

One by one, my buddies are finding their soul mates, parting ways with our bachelor days. In my opinion, they’re ahead of the eight ball. Twenty-five is awfully young to say forever.

Thirty seems like a good, round number to start looking for a wife. But those guys always were overachievers.

I glance at Skyler, the biggest overachiever of all of us. He was the only one of us who got decent grades. Got his degree in engineering and somehow wound up right back in Silver Bend. I guess even the smart ones get stuck sometimes.

“They look happy.”

Skyler mutters absently.

“Yeah. So happy I could just puke.”

I grin, slapping him on the shoulder. “This beer ain’t cutting it. You want something stronger?”

He glances at me, giving me the same droll smile they always give me when I’m being… me. “Nah, man. I got to get up early and work on some reports for San Francisco. Helping dad with planting set me back this week. I’m all kinds of behind.”

“Suit yourself. Be right back.”

I slip away from him, glad to put the dance behind me. As soon as I’m turned, the smile slips from my face. They all expect happy-go-lucky from me. That’s what I usually serve up. But tonight, I can’t stop thinking about this baker I’m stuck meeting. I can’t stop wondering where Sienna and I will go when she kicks us out.

Gus and I renovated that barn with our own hands. Turned it from an unused horse barn into a two-bedroom apartment that would fit in on one of those home renovation shows. Leaving that place is going to feel like slicing off a limb.

The music fades as I make my way towards Tia’s Place. I spot Juice and deviate from my path.

Juice was in the grade below us. I spent a good amount of time with Juice growing up because his dad owned the bar Runner liked best. Long-legged as a stork, with lank, dark hair, he hasn’t changed a lick since high school. We’re friends. As much as you can be friends with your weed dealer.

We shake hands in the complicated fashion we made up years ago. He’s got some little squirt with him. I say little, but the shady little dude is probably older than I am. His smile is friendly enough, but there’s something in his eyes I don’t quite trust.

“How’s it hanging, Dusty?”

“I can’t complain. Well, I could. But ain’t nobody wants to hear it.”

Juice laughs. “I sure as shit don’t want to.”

He tips his head towards his friend. “This is my cousin, Jeremy Dietrick.”

Jeremy holds out his hand. “My friends call me Skunk.”

Charming. “Good to meet you, Jeremy.”

I glance back at Juice. “You got anything on you?”

He shakes his head. “I can stop by tomorrow, though.”

“Sounds good, man. I’ll see you around.”

I step past them, not wanting to get bogged down with Skunk. Juice is good people, but he’s a God-awful judge of character. I know firsthand that some of those ‘friends’ of Juice’s are nothing but trouble.

I step inside Tia’s Place and the music instantly fades behind me, easing the insistent anxiety that’s been dogging me ever since I talked to Carl.

The bar would normally be crawling on a Friday night, but it’s empty, save for one pretty little thing.

Dark hair cascades down her back in soft waves that I’d love to reach out and touch. She’s got on a faded black band shirt, a flowy leopard skirt and black boots.

Looks like she belongs on the set of a music video somewhere.

Definitely not from around here.

Tia notices me first, nodding at me as I approach, and the girl looks up, turning to glance over her shoulder at me.

I was sold by the skirt alone, but holy shit, that face.

I am not usually a man who is short on words, but one look at her and I can’t remember my own name.

Dark, expressive eyebrows flick upward as she takes me in. Her eyes are a strange amber color. I’ve never seen freckles on someone with that deep of a tan, but there they are, dusting her cheekbones and upturned little nose.

I’m staring at those plump lips. Riveted, if I’m being honest, when they quirk into a sly grin.

Tia scrubs a rag across the top of the bar. “Dusty, you gonna stand there staring, or did you come in here with a purpose?”