Page 18 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

There are two exits within eyeshot of here, along with the dance floor, and restrooms. Almost every male is wearing a hat like mine in varying colors with a pistol or blade holster on their belt, some females too.

Everyone has on boots, a large, decorative belt buckle, and Wrangler jeans.

It’s like we’re on the set of a country movie where the costume designers got lazy and made everyone the same outfit.

I feel out of place but not the least bit sorry about it. This hat is as far as I’ll go with the designated line of attire. And that’s only because it came from Josie . . . and she said I was hot.

“You ready to order?” the bartender asks, but he’s only addressing Josie. He leans both tattoo-sleeved arms on the counter when she smiles at him.

See that , I remind myself. You’re nothing special . She makes everyone feel seen, and appreciated. It’s just who she is.

“I am. What about you, Hayes?”

She places a hand on my arm and the guy backs up. I shouldn’t be so thrilled about that, but my blood is two-steppin’ to a peppy tune inside my veins despite knowing it. “Do you need more time?”

“No. I’d like a steak and baked potato. ”

“Don’t you want to pick it out? There are lots of options.” She points at the menu.

“I got you,” the bartender says before giving his attention to Josie. “And for you, beautiful?”

The compliment makes her blush, and I realize that I’d been too consumed by her to tell her the same thing.

Damn him.

But she’s more than beautiful. That overused word is too simple for her. Too common.

She’s captivating.

“I’ll take the Caesar salad wrap, and a Mai Tai.” She tilts her head at me. “He’ll have a beer.”

“Whatever’s on tap.” I hand him my credit card for the tab.

Josie scowls, but the bartender smacks the counter and scurries off before she can protest.

“You shouldn’t have,” she repeats my response for the hat gift with the same irritated flavor I gave it. What goes around comes around, darlin’. “Are you really that low maintenance, or do you just not care?”

“I’m used to MREs, cafeteria food, and warm beer. Whatever he brings will be better than that.”

“Fair enough.”

We sit in silence, and while she absorbs the energy of the room and feeds off it, I’m drowning. Maybe it’s her fruity scent or how close her stool is to mine at the packed bar. I could touch her leg, back, or any part of her with minimal effort. It’s pure torture .

She squeals when a new song starts. “I love this one. Be right back.” Hpping off the stool, she rushes to the dance floor, the ends of her long hair bouncing with each step across the waistband of those godforsaken shorts.

The lights bounce off her smooth skin while she moves to the beat alongside the other dancers. She follows the steps clumsily, but by the first chorus, she’s mastered the choreography and synchronization.

Watching her move is addictive. I barely notice when my beer arrives or another woman claims Josie’s seat.

“Awesome tattoo,” she says, pointing at my bicep.

She leans on the counter to face me, one leg crossing over the other between mine. With the short skirt, it’s meant to be seductive. But I’m not here to flirt or pick up women, and I don’t appreciate her taking Josie’s spot.

“Thanks.” I take a long swig, willing Josie to reappear and end this ambush. “That seat is—”

“I’m Gretchen.”

And I’m not in the mood.

Luckily, the bartender is hovering. “Where’s your girlfriend?” He passes me my card. Either he read my discomfort and wants to help, or he’s fishing for Josie’s availability.

Doesn't matter. I’m riding it out. Anything to free myself of Gretchen and keep—I check the bartender’s name tag—Damian from hitting on Josie. “She’s dancing.”

Gretchen’s posture deflates. “Just my luck.” She climbs off the stool as Josie arrives .

She freezes a few feet from us, observing the aftermath with amusement and then what appears to be disappointment. But this hat and the weird, neon LED lighting could have me reading her all wrong.

Damian lingers nearby, probably expecting a show from this non-existent triangle. If it were someone else, I’d participate to get rid of him and Gretchen, but I will not play with Josie’s heart to make a point.

Gretchen scans Josie, then waves a dismissive hand in my direction. “Don’t worry. Your man was a loyal gentleman. Such a bore,” she adds and struts away.

Josie’s laugh rings out over the music as she climbs onto her stool. She chugs half her melting cocktail before addressing the issue. “My man? That’s a new development.”

“Misunderstanding.”

“She was pretty.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“You’re not interested?” Her easy tone doesn’t match her dark, thoughtful eyes.

“We have a pact, remember?”

“You can find someone attractive and want to spend time with them without involving sex, you know?”

“No, thanks.” I smirk against the rim of my glass before taking a swig.

“Is that how you really feel or are you just messing with me?”

“What do you mean? ”

“Are you the person your reputation paints you to be? Jordan and Jackson didn’t exactly correct Grant when he assumed you were a player.”

I make a mental note to punch both my friends the next time I see them. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re avoiding the question. It would be easy for you to live that lifestyle.”

“It’s the hat, isn’t it?” I joke, but she doesn’t join in.

“Doesn’t help your case. But you have done some things that contradict the reputation.”

Time to set the record straight. “I haven’t been with a woman for over a year, Josie. Beyond that, I’m not exactly dating material.”

“Because you’re commitment averse or haven’t found the right girl?”

Why are we having this conversation? “I haven’t found someone who understands me and my situation.” I let out some tension by rolling my shoulders. That was harder than expected.

Her gaze lingers on me, reading the fine print behind the raw declaration. She’s the only person, outside of my family, who sees through my bullshit.

“Okay.” She takes another sip. “Why did she think we were dating?”

“The bartender asked where my girlfriend went.”

“And you didn’t correct him?”

“No.”

“To get rid of her?”

And because I didn’t hate the idea. “Him, too. ”

“What did he do?”

“Not important.” I lift the frosted mug to drink, but she presses on my wrist to stop me, not accepting my dismissal. I could do without so many heart-to-heart conversations. Yet, I resign and set down the glass. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“When he called me beautiful?”

“You saw it?”

“I’m not blind, but I’m sure he does that to all women for tips.”

I shrug, hoping that ends the torture. I’d prefer to talk about literally anything else before I say something I’ll regret. Or sit in silence. That sounds even—

“I’m not a child, Hayes.” The torment continues. “You can’t go around telling lies just because you don’t like someone flirting with me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Implying something that’s untrue is the same thing.”

“Want me to come clean to him? Are you interested?”

Shit. I didn’t mean to ask that question, and I do not want to hear the answer . . . if it’s yes .

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Are you sure? He’s coming this way.”

“Shut up.”

Damian sets our plates in front of us and goes about his work. No lingering. No flirting, and I’m not the least bit upset about how we got here .

Picking up half of her wrap, she nods at my overflowing plate. “That’s the biggest steak I’ve ever seen. Probably the most expensive on the menu.”

“That’s what I get.”

“Agreed. Not only were you vague and dismissive when you ordered, but you crushed his poor, fragile heart.” She grins, her sparkle resurging.

“I did do that.” I stab the first bite and pull the savory piece of filet off with my teeth. “But I’m not mad about it. It’s delicious.”

She elbows me. “What about his broken heart?”

“I only care about your heart.”

“What?” she asks over the DJ, who started yelling into the mic with impeccable timing.

I shake my head and wave it off, grateful to be saved by the staff once again.