Page 53 of Cowboy SEAL Homecoming

Chapter 12

Alex had never spent much time at Pioneer Spirit. He’d left Blue Valley at eighteen. Most of his drinking days had happened in the navy. He’d been in one hundred bars in one hundred bad situations, flung all over the world, but he’d never spent much time here.

After dinner at Georgia’s, even with Becca’s stories of how Blue Valley had changed, he was glad to be somewhere that held no deep-seated memories for him.

There was a decent enough crowd for a small-town bar on a Thursday night. There was a jukebox blaring country music and two pretty bartenders sliding Budweisers down the slick surface of the bar.

Gabe was flirting with one of the women, who seemed maybe marginally more interested than Georgia, but only marginally. Jack was watching the crowd with assessing eyes. Becca also looked out over the crowd, but with wide eyes and a death grip on her bottle of beer. It was quite the evening.

“Why didn’t you order whiskey?” he asked her over the bar din.

“Because I’m a lightweight and I have to drive us home.”

“Drink. I’m only having one.” Because he wasn’t sure he trusted himself with a buzz—not to keep his shit together and not to keep from saying something stupid to Becca.

Like how he wanted to run his fingers through her hair or press his mouth to the graceful curve of her neck.

Yeah, shit like that was not even acceptable to think, let alone say.

“This is supposed to be your night of fun with Jack and Gabe. I think I can handle being the designated driver.”

“I’m not drinking more whether I’m driving tonight or not. You deserve some fun too. Take it.”

“Do people really think this is fun?” she asked, gesturing out at the crowd with her bottle. “I can’t hear myself think over the noise. It smells like beer, grease, and…and I’m not sure I want to know what those other smells are.”

“That’s why you drink, so you don’t notice it.”

Her mouth curved and she shook her head, hair moving along her shoulders, and he found his eyes tracing one curl that ended right about where her shirt dipped low and—

He jerked his gaze back to the crowd. “Weren’t you the one who said you want to be living life and breaking out of all that sheltered stuff?”

“Does that mean I have to get drunk?”

“Doesn’t mean you have to. I’m just saying, drink if you want to. I’ll drive us home.”

She gave him a sideways glance, mischief dancing in her green eyes. “If you recall, I follow Burt’s truck rules. My truck. Only I drive it.”

He brought his beer to his lips and took a pull. “You know my dad let me drive his truck once.”

“He did not.”

“He did so.” Alex smiled at her, couldn’t help himself. She was something like irresistible magic. He wanted her to smile, to laugh.

You want her.

“Anyway,” he said, looking back down at his beer. “He might not have known he let me, but I drove the truck once.”

She laughed, loud and pretty, and he wanted to lean forward into that laugh and then into her.

Which was why he was not drinking, though he could have used a fucking shot. Drinking and Becca could only lead to bad decisions.

He motioned to one of the bartenders, the one he was pretty sure was a Rogers girl. No, no longer girls. All grown up. He knew they’d lived in pretty crappy circumstances, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d gotten out of them. It was one of the few changes he could get behind if they had.

“Two whiskey Cokes.”

She nodded and turned to get the drinks.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to drink,” Becca said.