Page 32 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)
Alpenglow is a bar located a short walk back in the direction of the hotel. Sitting right at the heart of the town, the exterior gives off the same cozy aesthetic as the rest of the resort town, but when we enter, the interior is deceptively modern, but not in the same flashy way as the hotel.
Dark walls accented with brass light fixtures make the main room seem small and intimate.
The dark wood floors, coordinating with the bar top, are clean and free of the debris that accumulates in the bars back in Texas.
It’s well-lit, but compared to the bright, natural light of the summer evening, the bar is moody .
Ryker Ames, Jenna’s fiancé, waves us over to the corner where the four other couples of the wedding party are gathered in a booth.
Trace raises his hand in acknowledgment, and then places it on my lower back to guide me through the crowded main room.
Confident in Trace’s guidance, I glance around, admiring the room.
A flash of auburn catches the corner of my eye, and I turn to look for a familiar face, but the woman disappears into the bathroom .
I’m probably just being paranoid. The only place we ran into Millie was Texas—no problems in Alabama over the Fourth. More than likely, we’re in the clear with our Millie problems.
Jenna embraces me when we approach, like I hadn’t just seen her a few minutes before, and Ryker shakes hands with Trace.
I don’t remember if Trace has ever met Jenna’s fiancé—I don’t make a habit of bringing him home the few times I come back to Colorado every year—so I introduce him to Ryker, even though the stars in Ryker’s eyes are enough to show that he knows exactly who the man on my arm is.
“Trace, this is Ryker, Jenna’s fiancé. Ryker, this is my boyfriend, Trace.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Ryker says, looking up at Trace while he shakes his hand.
In his defense, most people look up to Trace, but Ryker is on the shorter side, and while it’s an advantage in his sport, it definitely makes for a vertically-challenged marriage.
“Why don’t you join us over here? What are you guys drinking tonight? ”
“Don’t worry about us,” Trace says, waving Ryker away and shifting to give me more space to sit in the crowded booth. “We’re not drinking anything more than Dr Pepper tonight.
Ryker’s hand goes to Trace’s elbow, stopping him.
“Please, let me. Consider it the pre-rehearsal. Since we all know what adding all of the parents is going to do to our enjoyment.” Ryker’s smile is nonchalant, but I can see in his eyes the same stress that Jenna’s been under.
I’ve never met his parents, but if they’re anything like mine, tomorrow’s rehearsal dinner is going to be a nightmare.
The impromptu party is more laid back than I expected it to be, considering it was planned by my sister, and I end up actually having fun talking to the other bridesmaids I’ll be following down the aisle on Saturday and getting to know the groomsmen who will stand opposite us during the ceremony.
After their first drinks, Melissa and Anika want another round, and, being on the end of the bench, I offer to grab them for them at the bar.
I make my way to the bartender and put in the order, perching on one of the barstools and turning back to face the table while I’m waiting for them to be made.
Trace is involved in a conversation with two of the groomsmen, his hands moving animatedly while he talks, and judging by the movements I’ve seen thousands of times, he’s trying to explain something about football that’s going over their heads.
I smile, shaking my head, and turn back to the counter.
Another glimpse of auburn hair catches my eye—weird that I’ve noticed it twice, but I’ll blame the last month and a half of constantly being on Millie Alert for the oddity.
Brushing off the strange thought, I gather the three drinks between my hands.
A large shape sidles up next to me, blocking out some of the nearby light, and I glance over as he opens his mouth.
“What’s a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this?”
I run my eye over the man, who’s leaning his elbow on the bar, a hairsbreadth too close for my liking.
His dark hair is hidden under a backward ball cap, the ends curling around his ears and over his collar.
Five o’clock shadow covers the lower half of his face, and his deep brown eyes sparkle with interest as he eyes me back.
He’s attractive, and he knows it. A few months ago, I might have stopped and flirted back, but I haven’t put my heart on the line for the last month and a half to ruin things now.
I give him a polite smile and finish wrangling the glasses into my hands. “Sorry, I’m not interested. Just getting some drinks for my friends. ”
“Aw, come on,” the man says, straightening from where he was leaning.
I stand, and I can see it in his eyes when he starts second guessing himself because we stand eye-to-eye.
But he must be on his second or third drink because he doesn’t give up.
“Why don’t you take those to your friends and then come back so I can buy you a drink? ”
He reaches a hand out, like he’s going to cup my elbow or something when another large body fills the space between us.
“My girlfriend said no.” Trace’s melodic accent cuts through the din of the bar, and the man looks up at the interruption.
And any interest in me completely vanishes as recognition and then awe crosses his face as he looks up at Trace.
“Oh—wow—um—sorry, man—holy crap—I didn’t mean to hit on your girlfriend.” The man continues to stutter while he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can I get a picture with you?”
After a moment of silence where Trace sizes the guy up, his demeanor shifts from defensive to fan mode. “Sure, man.”
“Holy crap, it’s really Trace Davenport,” he whispers as he turns to face the same direction that Trace is standing, holding his phone out for a selfie. When I get a glimpse of the back of his hat, I’m not surprised to see the Wranglers’ logo.
Trace and I make eye contact after the guy snaps a few pictures, and I understand his silent message. Go . I turn and head back to the table while Trace is distracting the guy who hit on me, only to find the entire wedding party watching Trace’s interaction with his fan.
“Does that happen every time you go somewhere?” Melissa asks as she accepts her drink from me.
I look back to Trace, who is slowly extracting himself from the encounter, and notice more than one other person in the bar looking his way now. After another handshake—or two—Trace is able to head back to our table. He makes eye contact with me, and shakes his head as he laughs silently.
“I can’t take you anywhere, Naomi,” he teases as he slides into the booth across from me. I laugh, remembering all the times I’ve told him the same thing. Trace reaches his hand across the table to grasp mine, and I run my thumb across the back of his.
It’s so easy now, these little touches that I used to worry about. Maybe it’s too easy, and that’s why I should be worried. After all, my season only has a few weeks left, and theoretically, so does our fake relationship.
But what if you didn’t? A voice that is becoming increasingly more frequent muses.
While it’s not the first time I’ve thought this, I never let it linger, quickly brushing it aside and reminding myself that Trace is my best friend.
It doesn’t matter if everyone thinks we’re dating or that we’ve kissed and it was cosmic or that I think I’m in love with him.
Another flash of auburn over Trace’s shoulder makes me look away from his mesmerizing honey-colored eyes. Call it being paranoid, but I tug on Trace’s hand and point.
“Doesn’t that look like Millie?” The woman moves around the edge of the room, making her way up to the bar.
This establishment is small, so it’s not like I’m pointing out someone at the other end of a football stadium.
Trace swivels his head, watching where I’m pointing.
His forehead scrunches with the examination, but she’s too far away, and the bar is too dark to be sure.
While the possibility of it being Millie makes my hackles raise, neither of us have heard anything from her in weeks.
If she were to make another move on Trace, shouldn’t she have done it by now?
“No, thank goodness,” Trace says with a shake of his head and a squeeze to my hand. He sounds confident in his assessment of the stranger across the way, so I squeeze his hand back, letting my worrisome thoughts fade away. “We don’t need any of that drama this weekend.”
“Agreed.” I look back over at the woman once more before finally releasing the breath I’ve been holding. There’s sure to be plenty of drama this weekend with my mom being involved in everything, but at least it’s not Millie.