"I could invite her. I'll just . . . I'll go in and I'll invite her."
"Good. You do that," Jack said, landing a heavy hand on his shoulder. I saw Nick flinch a little under the sudden weight. It was hard not to laugh. Jack had no idea how big his hands really were.
"But let's get you sobered up first," Donnie said smoothly, sliding a glass of water under Nick's nose and pulling away the bottle.
“Yeah,” Nick agreed, pulling out his phone. “Good idea.”
“Maybe talk to her tomorrow,” I suggested, giving his phone a pointed look.
“Shit. Working tomorrow,” he moaned. “I don't think I'll be sober enough to go in at six like usual.”
“You could text her,” Donnie suggested.
"No texting," Janet interrupted him. "He needs to be able to see her face. He's got to have some sense of whether she wants to go or not."
"Right." I nodded. Janet was right. "So, you're going to have to hold out for another day."
"What if she makes other plans for the weekend?" Callaway said with a frown. "I mean, if she's that pretty, I'm sure she has other options."
Donnie reached across the bar and slapped him in the back of his head.
"Not. Helping."
"She doesn't have any friends," Nick said sadly. "Only horses. Hendrix loves her. She looks after him for me."
We all exchanged a look. We knew how he felt about his horse. That horse was family to him.
It was all the more reason that he couldn't fuck this up.
"Friday. You'll ask her Friday."
Everyone nodded. Mostly, I made club rules around here, but the guys tended to listen to me on just about everything. They were my brothers, just as much as my little brother, John, had been.
"I can't wait to meet her," Janet said dryly. I knew what she meant. We were all itching to meet the girl who had brought Nick to his knees.
Saturday couldn't come soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Melissa
Something came up. Give Hendrix an apple for me.
That's what the text said. That's all I'd heard from Nick since he left two days ago. I kept checking my phone and rereading it. “At least he texted,” I muttered to myself. He’d gotten my digits the last time we hung out. That had to count for something.
But the sky was a little less blue this morning. The birds didn’t sound as sweet. My coffee tasted a little less awesome.
Well, no. That was a lie. The coffee was still pretty awesome.
Here I was feeling incredibly silly, hoping for a glimpse of his tall form striding through the stables, his long hair falling over his eyes, or the way his tight jeans hugged his, well, his perfect ass. It wasn’t just his good looks, though. I missed talking to him, too.
And then, just like that . . . he was there.
All 6' 2" of him.
I pretty much melted.
He froze for a split second when he saw me. I had a sudden thought that he’d been avoiding me. But then he strode forward with purpose. There was a warm but wary look in his eyes as he came to stand a few feet away from me. He gave me a crooked smile that made my insides feel all soft and gooey.
“Hey,” he said with a funny little crinkling of his brow.
“Hey,” I offered, feeling unaccountably shy.
“Sorry I missed you yesterday,” he said. I shook my head, about to tell him he didn’t owe me an apology. But he didn’t give me a chance. “Let me make it up to you. There's a barbecue this weekend. Do you think you can get away for a few hours?”
My mouth dropped open. I nodded, not exactly sure what I was agreeing to. Was it a date? Or was this a pity barbecue because he knew I had zero social life?
I swatted a fly away from my sweaty face and imagined us standing there as if someone else were seeing us. Me, wearing grubby work clothes, young, short, and a little chubby. Him, stunningly gorgeous and impossibly cool, with a perfect body and never a hair out of place. I mean, the man could have been in a shampoo commercial.
Yeah, it was definitely a pity barbecue.
I didn’t stop nodding, though. Mom kept trying to get me to do something fun. She felt bad about my dropping out and sitting by her bedside half the time. But it had been my choice, something I told her repeatedly.
Anyway, a girl had to eat, right?
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow around three. Sounds good?”
I nodded again, feeling stupid for the butterflies that were now doing cartwheels in my tummy. Stupid butterflies. It's not a date.
He turned to leave and then looked back at me.
“Let me know if you're going to wear a dress so I can bring a car.”
“A dress?”
He nodded. “It's not safe to ride on the back of a motorcycle in a dress. So it's up to you. Just let me know, OK?”