Whiskey Moon

I take another drink and reach for a nearby bowl of pretzels. I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast today, but downing this on an empty stomach could be catastrophic for my self-control.

Wyatt stares at his drink, his shoulders hunched and his elbows on the bar. The soft scent of leather and clean cotton and cologne wafts from his starched button down, and his muscles press through the thin plaid fabric.

I may be close to him in the physical sense, but we might as well be light years away from one another. He won’t open up, won’t let me in, won’t even entertain the thought of me encroaching on his private territory.

Out of nowhere, a rush of heat flushes my skin and the room turns ten degrees hotter as the alcohol courses through my veins. I wasn’t expecting it to hit this hard and fast —but in Cash’s defense, I told him to make it strong.

Fanning my face, I turn to Wyatt, “It’s hot in here. Is it hot to you?”

He shakes his head, his gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. “You feeling alright?”

“I think I just need some air.” I hop down from the bar stool and head for the back door … only the last thing I expect when I get to the alley is to have a little company. “You didn’t have to follow me out here.”

Wyatt adjusts his hat, drinking me in but keeping his distance. “You said you weren’t feeling so hot. Wasn’t going to let you go outside alone.”

“You weren’t going to let me?” I chuckle. “Cute.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Then how noble of you.” A cool gust of late-night air sweeps across my face. The molten lava sensation has disappeared, leaving in its place a tranquility I wasn’t expecting.

“You feeling better yet?” Wyatt studies me, his handsome face colored with concern.

“I am.”

“I was thinking about taking off,” he speaks slowly, carefully, and his thumbs are hooked in the loops of in his jeans.

“Same.” I glance up at the starry sky before scanning the parking lot and taking in a lungful of Whiskey Springs air. “Now that I know you’re not three sheets to the wind, throwing chairs and crying out my name … my assistance is no longer needed.”

“He said I was throwing chairs?”

“No. But he did say you were crying out my name.”

Wyatt cracks a sexy smile, and my god is it beautiful. He could make a girl forget her name with that thing. He could almost make her forget how much he hurt her, too.

“Can I ask you something?” I perch against the chrome bumper of some stranger’s Tahoe. “And I promise it has nothing to do with you and me.”

He chews the inside of his lip before tipping his chin. “All right.”

“Do you have any regrets?” I ask. “Or are you happy? I mean, truly happy. Do you wake up every morning and as soon as your feet hit the floor you think yourself, damn, I love my life.”

“I don’t think anyone does that.”

“Fair enough. But do you ever wonder if you made the right decision?” I ask. “Or do you ever think about all the different ways your life could’ve gone.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t about us.”

“It’s not,” I say. “Are you happy working the ranch? Are you fulfilled? Is this enough or do you ever want something else?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” he says in a way that doesn’t convince me.

I don’t waste my breath trying to pry because I’ll never get him to elaborate.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask.

“Sure.” Wyatt takes a step closer, his hands jammed into his front pockets.

“You know how there are some people who love to sing,” I say. “Like love to sing. More than anything in the world. But they can’t carry a tune to save their life?”

He squints, “Uh. Yeah, okay.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m the acting equivalent.” Before he responds, I continue, “I’ve studied, and practiced, and taken seminars and workshops, and I audition more than anyone else I know. I’ve been thrown a bone a handful of times, but mostly I get … passed over.”

“It’s all about who you know, right? Maybe you just haven’t made the right connections.”

“I network like it’s a full-time job,” I say. “That’s how I land half of my auditions. After a while, it eats away at a person, you know? How many more times can I be told I’m not good enough or I don’t have that certain something they’re looking for? And I’m not throwing myself a pity party. We can’t all be the next Lili Reinhart. I’m just … venting. I’ve never said this out loud to anyone. I’ve never shared it with any of my friends and definitely not my father because he thinks I’m living my dreams and it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted for me. I just … I wanted to come home years ago. But I was too proud to admit that I failed. And I was too scared to run into you. So I stayed, and I kept taking classes and auditioning and convincing myself that I’m living the kind of life that would make Carrie Bradshaw jealous, but then I realized … Carrie’s life wasn’t all rainbows and roses, but at least she had Big.”