Tequila & Tailgates (A Country Road Novel - Book 2)

by Andrea Johnston

  In my plan to get Ashton back, this was next on the list after the truck. I’ve never been much for planning, but if the result of a plan is Ashton Sullivan in my bed then I’m okay with it.

  I’ve never really been a big gesture kind of guy. Except for asking a girl to my high school prom, I haven’t had to work hard to impress a girl. That’s not cockiness, that’s fact. Charisma and good personality go a long way when you’re a single guy in your twenties. Plus, I learned early on that the ladies like a set of abs, a killer smile, and hair long enough they envision it in their hands or tickling their thighs.

  The lengths I’ve gone to the last few weeks have been more than I thought would ever be necessary to impress a woman. New truck, life plan, making friends with her friends, and stalking. Yep, actual fucking stalking. Stalking wasn’t exactly on her ideal man list but a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.

  After hanging out with Ben the night I bought my truck, and kicking his ass in a very intense game of Call of Duty, I found myself with nothing to do and a pot of coffee-induced amount of energy. Knowing Ashton was with her mom and friends, I somehow thought a drive out to Doris’s Tavern was a good idea. It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea but it certainly wasn’t a very put together plan either.

  Entering the bar, I noticed the crowd was like the last time I was there. Small groups of people and couples filled the tables with a few individuals at the bar. This wasn’t a singles-heavy bar like Country Road. The primary entertainment seemed to be karaoke, which I found interesting considering Ashton’s issues with singing.

  While a woman gave a valiant effort to channel her inner Katy Perry, I made my way to the bar where the same big guy from last time was tending. He recognized me right away and his demeanor changed instantly. Standing to his full giant height, he walked toward me, ultimately resting his arms on the bar in front of me, intimidating scowl present.

  Obviously not in the mood for small talk, I started to introduce myself to him when the woman I remembered from that last visit walked up and smacked him in the back of the head. To my surprise, he didn’t scowl or scold her, instead he turned around and wrapped her in his arms.

  “This is Ashton’s friend, be nice to him,” the woman chastised while allowing the giant to kiss her before he turned his attention to me.

  “If I remember correctly, Ashton didn’t seem too keen on having this fella here. What are you doing here anyway?”

  Extending my hand, I offered my most charming smile to them both. “Jameson Strauss, it’s a pleasure.”

  Both shook my hand but it was the woman who offered their names, Mel and Shelly. I wanted to tease them about the “Mel and Shel” bit but didn’t. I could tell my welcome was going to be short lived if I did.

  “I don’t disagree that Ash wasn’t happy to see me the last time I was here. That’s why I came here. I wanted to see what this place was and meet the both of you. I could tell when I was here last time that you’re both important to her.”

  “We care very much for Ashton. She’s good people and our customers love having her here.”

  “Wait, I didn’t think she worked here.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Then, why would…” As I’m about to finish the sentence, the DJ clears his throat and reminds the crowd that their own in-house Miranda Lambert isn’t here. Turning to Mel and Shelly, I note the way they look at each other and then back to me. No way. “Does Ashton sing when she’s here?” I asked.

  Before she walked away, Shelly repeated the similar words to those I had said to Ben only hours earlier, “It’s not our story to tell.”

  I didn’t stay much longer that night, recognizing my presence made both Mel and Shelly uncomfortable. But, I did go back. Over the next two weeks, I returned to Doris’s Tavern on nights that I knew Ashton was working at Country Road. By the third night, I think Mel finally figured out I was serious about understanding what Ashton did there and who the people she considered her friends were. I’m an easy guy to get along with, so I could tell Mel hated finally warming up to me. I even got up on that ridiculous stage and sang very bad karaoke. Very bad.

  One night, I had been sitting at the bar having a beer, trying to get Mel to tell me the seasoning on the steak sandwich, when Shelly grabbed my arm and yanked me off my seat. Motioning toward the door to where Ashton was walking in, she pulled me toward a long hallway.

  “She can’t see you. She’s just getting back to herself, this will screw her up.”

  “Shelly, I’m not interested in lying to her. I want to be with her. Why can’t I just say something like ‘hey, fancy seeing you here.’?”

  “Are you high? Did Mel spike your sandwich? No way, this is not a time for a big romantic gesture. Besides, you don’t want to profess your love for the girl with horseradish on your shirt,” she says, pointing at the front of my shirt. Good point.

  “I didn’t say anything about a romantic gesture, but fine, I’ll go out the back. Tell Mel bye, will ya, and I’ll bring him some of that bait in a few days.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just go!”

  Just as I step out the back door, I hear Ashton’s voice asking Shelly who she was talking to. Jogging to my truck, I vow that this is the last time I come to Doris’s Tavern without Ashton knowing.

  “Shel, who were you just talking to?”

  “What? Oh, some guy had too many shots or something; he needed fresh air. What are you doing here? It’s not one of your regular nights?” Shelly says, sliding her hand under my arm and turning me to walk back toward the bar. Guiding me to an empty chair, she leaves me to walk around the back of the bar with Mel, who places a glass of water with lemon in front of me. I smile in gratitude.

  Taking a sip of the water, I watch as Mel and Shelly exchange a few hushed words and Mel winks at Shelly. Weird.

  “So, not that I’m complaining nor will the crowd, but whatcha doing here tonight?” Mel asks as he leans against the bar.

  “Work was slow so Taylor offered me the rest of the night off. I didn’t have anywhere else to be so I figured I’d come hang out with two of my favorite people and see what was happening.”

  “Seems like a long drive because you’re bored. Want to talk about it?” Mel asks as Shelly excuses herself from our conversation.

  “Not really. Same thing. I need to get a life, Mel. This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-five years old and what do I have to show for it?”

  “Come on now, you have a good life. Why don’t you sing something? How about that one song you kind of made your own that one night?”

  “Maybe,” I relent, taking another sip of my water. I know the song he’s referring to. Last weekend when I was here, some poor sap tried hard to do “Uptown Funk” justice but failed. Kent, the DJ, and I were talking about it and I said that I sing the song all the time but in a scaled-down acoustic version like the artist, Cam. He said he hadn’t heard that version but thought I should do it. So, I did. And it was pretty fantastic if I do say so myself.

  Sliding off the stool, I walk over to Kent and tell him I want to do the song again and he’s even more on board than Mel was. As I’m talking to him, I swear I can feel someone staring at me. It’s creepy and I don’t like it. This is how I feel anytime someone in my family or close friends sees me sing. I know that’s not happening but it’s still the feeling I have and begin to signal Kent to cancel my announcement, but he’s not paying attention. Instead, a few catcalls and whistles startle me. Shelly’s hand on my back calms me as she whispers reassurances in my ear. Nodding, I take the stage.

  I don’t need to read the lyrics for this song and instead close my eyes as the opening beats fill the room, hushing the crowd. Tapping my leg with my free hand, I release a long breath as the beat takes over and a smile forms on my lips. The moment the lyrics flow out of me, I relax. With each word as I begin an unplugged version of “Uptown Funk,” I let go of the uneasy feeling of being watched.

  I finally relented and, once again, agreed to go dres
s shopping with Piper. This time, my mom is coming with us and our goal is to find the Mother of the Groom dress and show my mom the one Piper chose for me. I have tried getting her to find a new dress since the last one is now tainted with memories, but she’s not budging.

  Having my parents home has been great, but the constant comparison to my cousin Tabitha, who by the way is the same age as me and heads and tails more successful in life, is getting old. After their cruise and delay with the construction on the house, also known as the time I was an idiot and fell in love, my parents stayed with family on the coast, including my aunt and uncle.

  I liked my cousin just fine as kids. We were the same age and she would visit for a few weeks at a time in the summer. It was just the perfect amount of time for us to have fun before she started driving me nuts and hightailed it for home. By the time we were in high school, the visits were limited to family reunions. I haven’t seen her in a few years and, apparently from what I’m told, she’s been quite busy during those years. While I’ve been bartending and moving back home, Tabitha has snagged herself a husband, three kids, and a white picket fence. I know my mom loves me and supports me, but the way she tells me about Tabitha’s “accomplishments” makes me wonder if she’s a tad disappointed in me.

  Returning to the same dress shop Piper found her wedding gown, I am flooded with memories of that day. The day we were accosted by Felicity Remington-Thorne and the day Jameson sent me to ecstasy against a changing room wall. Classy with a capital “C.”

  “Ashton, will you try on that one dress you had on last time for your mom?”

  “Piper, I was thinking that maybe that’s not the best dress for me.”

  “What are you talking about? It was perfect. Even your brother said you looked great, and the way Jameson reacted to you, I’d say it was the winner.”

  Piper’s reference to Jameson piques my mom’s interest and she turns toward me with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Without a second thought, my finger raises in her direction to stop any declaration or inquiry she may have.

  “Don’t, Mother. Fine. I’ll try it on, but like you said last time we were here,” I say, pointing at Piper, “I’m doing this under duress.”

  Once the consultant locates the dress in question, and because I have the absolute worst luck on the planet, I find myself in the same dressing room as last time. Closing my eyes, I allow myself a few minutes to remember those frantic and crazy moments. There was nothing romantic or sensual about that public romp; it was all passion and in the moment.

  I’ve accepted the fact that the level of passion I had with Jameson four years ago was never duplicated until I was back in his bed, or, I suppose, against a wall. Regardless, every other man I have been with has paled in comparison to Jameson.

  I sigh in frustration, stripping out of my clothes. Shimmying into the dress, I don’t look at myself in the mirror, afraid of what I’ll see, I close my eyes and instead turn my back to the mirror. I don’t need the judgment I’ll see in my own eyes, nor do I need the memories. Squeezing my feet into the very tacky white satin pumps the store offers for those of us that don’t bring our own shoes, I smooth down the front of the dress before opening the curtain.

  Once the curtain is open, I look to my mom and Piper only to find them less interested in me and more interested in Piper’s phone. Huddled together, they’re each pointing and nodding at whatever is on the screen. If I know them, and I do, they’re looking at her wedding Pinterest board.

  Clearing my throat, I wait as both sets of eyes lift from the phone to me. Opening my arms to the side as I stand on the little platform in front of them, I begin to slowly turn, showing my mom the entire dress. My hands go to my hips and I tap my foot impatiently as I wait for a response from either of them. My mom is the first to react.

  “Oh Ash, it’s lovely. You look beautiful. It’s no wonder Jameson is smitten.”

  “Jesus, Piper. What kind of crap are you feeding her? He is not smitten, Mother. He’s a moron. Now will this work? I want to take this off. Can you imagine all the people that have tried this on and their weird germs?”

  “I can assure you there are no germs on our dresses. We have very high standards here.”

  “I’m sure that’s true, Tiffany, but nonetheless I’d like to change.”

  “Trinity.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Trinity, not Tiffany.”

  “Whatever,” I spew before turning my attention to my mom. “I’m changing. Mother, if you’re done gossiping and Pinteresting with Piper, you should look at dresses.”

  “I’m sorry for my daughter’s rudeness, Trinity. Would you mind pulling a few dresses for me that complement the style of Piper and Ashton’s dresses?”

  Scurrying away like a frightened kitten, Tiffany, or whatever her name is, leaves the area and I step down from the platform.

  “You didn’t need to be rude to that poor girl, Ashton.”

  “Oh but, Patty, that’s the girl that was here last time, wasn’t it, Ashton?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Piper.”

  “Uh-huh. You see, Patty, I believe Trinity offered Jameson her telephone number. But Ashton wouldn’t be jealous about that, now would she?”

  “If you weren’t my best friend and we weren’t here planning your wedding I’d pinch you, Piper.”

  “Pinch?” my mom laughs out.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t exactly punch someone in front of you. Now may I please go change? You’re both driving me nuts. And I’m hungry.”

  Thankfully the options for a Mother of the Groom dresses were slim and my mom found a dress quickly. After a light lunch, we were off to a meeting with the florist and the company providing the tables and chairs. This wedding planning business is exhausting. Bowing out after five hours, I wanted to get a nap in before heading to Doris’s tonight. After a day of shopping, I’ve earned at least that much.

  I woke from a nap to the sound of furniture being dragged around the house. I really need to find my own place. Ever since my parents returned from their trip, they have been moving pieces of furniture from room to room. My dad said Mom discovered some sort of new Zen lifestyle and her plan was to rearrange all the … I don’t know because I stopped listening but basically, she is planning to move from room to room and rearrange everything. Yep, I’m going to need to get out before she makes it to my room.

  After showering, I slip on my robe and wrap my hair in a towel. Standing in front of my closet, I touch every piece of clothing, sliding each hangar from one end to another. Nothing seems right for tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve just gone to Doris’s and hung out. I feel like a few drinks may be in order. Shelly told me the last time I was there that they always have a spare room for me. Tonight may be the night to take her and Mel up on that offer. I’m sure the visit to the bridal shop today had nothing to do with this epiphany. Nothing.

  In the very back of my closet sits a dress I haven’t worn in a few years. Maybe tonight is the perfect time to pull it from retirement. A simple navy shift dress with cap sleeves and an eyelet overlay, this dress gives the impression I’m a sweet wholesome girl. I love that because I tend to choose songs that are the opposite when I dress like this. Grabbing the dress from the back of the closet, I toss it on my bed and pull out a pair of tall boots to finish off the look.

  Once my hair is dried and curled, I pull on the dress and laugh at the simplicity and conservative picture it presents. The last time I wore this dress, I sang with all my energy, “Fancy” by Reba McIntire. Looking like I’m ready for Sunday school while I sing about a prostitute made me laugh a little inside.

  Shouting goodbye to my parents as I hightail it out of the house, I settle behind the wheel of my car. Blasting some fun songs from the eighties and nineties, I’m a little excited for the night ahead. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to going to Doris’s and not worrying about whether Jameson will appear.

  Pulling in
the parking lot, I glance around to confirm Jameson’s truck isn’t here. I’ve done this each week since he showed up unannounced. I haven’t seen his truck and the internal battle of that has been difficult to deal with. Yes, I’m glad he’s left me alone. This is my place, my haven if you will. But, a part of me is a little disappointed he’s given up so easily. I guess that proves my point and why I had to end things; I was destined to have my heart broken.

  Walking in the door, I quickly scan the room just in case Jameson is here somewhere. This level of paranoia is annoying, but I swear I have some irrational PTSD going on. Once I confirm he isn’t here, I take my usual seat at the end of the bar. Mel sees me and smiles while helping a few customers. Acknowledging a few of the regulars seated at a nearby table, I don’t see Shelly anywhere.

  “Hey, kiddo, water?”

  “Actually, I think I’d like a beer. Just one, please. And a water.”

  “You got it. You look pretty tonight, special occasion?”

  “Nah, just felt like it,” I reply as Mel sets a tall glass of water and a beer on the bar in front of me. “Thanks. Where’s Shel?”

  “No problem. She’s around here somewhere.”

  Our conversation is cut short when a group of guys takes over half the bar with an order of shots and drinks. One of the guys looks my way and then turns back to whisper something to his friend. Before I’m able to look away, he plasters a predatory smile on his face and heads my way. Lovely. I’ve been here two minutes and am already going to have to pull out the snark.

  “Well, hello, darlin’, what’s your name?”

  “Sadie, darlin’.” Every girl needs a fake name in a bar. It’s a rule.

  “Come on now, Sadie, no need to be rude. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I look to have that handled, thanks.”

  Resting his big paw of a hand on my shoulder, he begins to brush my hair aside. Oh hell no. I hear a commotion behind me closer to the stage, where a beautiful rendition of “I Can’t Make You Love Me” is being performed. Instead of giving my attention to the performance, I must shut this asshat down.