Objective (Bloodlines #2)(36)

*****


I haven't seen or spoken to Bentley since he up and bailed on me a few nights ago. When I woke up this morning I felt the overwhelming urge to go out. The only problem with that is I have no friends. Well...no girlfriends. I seriously doubt Bentley or Brock would be game for a girls’ night out with me. They still watch me like a hawk when I’m drinking. It’s cute and infuriating all at the same time. I grab a phone from a basket on my dresser and text Aster that I love her before tossing the phone back in the basket. The right hand basket contains the go-phones that only have one number programed in: Aster’s. The two phones in the other basket are for personal use. They contain the club number, Bentley and Brock’s numbers, and the local pizza place that delivers. I grab a phone from the left-hand basket and text Bentley and Brock asking if anyone is available for a night out, and scan the monitors on the wall as I saunter into the bathroom to get ready for my day. No counting. Everything’s in order. I turn the water on and feel calm and focused.

Brock had jumped on the idea of going out together and convinced Bentley to change his plans to accommodate me as well. I’d showered and texted them both back, saying they were to pick where we go tonight since I have no idea what’s fun around here. It took me forever to figure out what to wear on a night out. I don’t really have any clothes outside of those for work or working out. I finally settle on a cream-colored blousy top that comes up in gathers around my neck and wraps around with a sash that ties at the back, leaving my shoulders, arms, and back mostly exposed. I pull on dark, fitted jeans (because it’s chilly out) and my cowboy boots with the bone-colored flower inlays. My hair is down and curled loosely and my makeup is light, outside of my telltale cat-eye eyeliner. I see them both approach on a monitor and hear the front door open and muffled voices talking, so I spritz on my perfume and head to the living room.

“So?” I ask the two gaping men standing in my living room. “Do I look alright?” I glance down, wondering if I went overboard. It’s been so long. Bentley coughs and runs his hand through his hair but doesn’t answer.

“Smokin’ hot girl. Damn,” Brock cat calls. I curtsy and beam a real smile back at both of them. When it’s clear that Bentley isn’t going to say anything I cock my head and let them know I’m ready to go.

“Yeah. Okay,” Bentley mumbles. What is his issue tonight? His sudden shyness is so unlike him.

“Where we going?” Brock asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I shudder slightly and shrug out of his hold. Hm. Maybe I’m not all better after all. He laughs and shakes his head at me.

“Honky Tonk,” Bentley says over his shoulder.

“SCORE! I’ve never been,” I say cheerily. Brock groans and cracks his neck a couple times. My guess is he isn’t a big fan of country. Bentley and I hop into his truck while Brock climbs onto his bike to follow behind. Apparently he has some hot date tonight and he’s not sure she’ll want to join us at a honky tonk so he needs to be able to leave without us. Pansy. But it’s good to see him excited over something.



The honky tonk is a large wooden structure, sort of like a barn, with Christmas lights strung up in a criss-cross pattern over the dance floor. The place is packed with line dancers, who I find fascinating. I like country music but there are no places where I’m from that offer up this kind of country so it’s really awesome to see, like a live musical. Bentley walks behind me, and Brock in front, as we wind through the crowd towards a vacant table. The chairs are hay bales. A tall, leggy blonde stops and asks us what we want to drink. I watch the way she drinks in Bentley from head to toe but he doesn't seem to notice her googley eyes at all. Surprising. I can picture him bedding someone like her.

“So, where’s the woman?!” I ask Brock over the music after we’ve ordered.

“Not here,” he grumbles. “I’m going to go meet her at Mack’s in an hour.”

“At work? Can't she meet you someplace where you don't already spend all your time?” I ask, feeling slightly territorial over him.

“I don't mind,” he answers.

“How’s the knee, man?” Brock directs at Bentley.

“Better. Still sore though.”

“What happened to your knee?” I ask, clearly out of the loop.

“Work injury. Nothing too bad. Brock had a connection at the gym for a sports physical therapist so I’m fine,” he says, not giving any more details. I stare at him hard, watching for some sign that explains his mood tonight but find none.

“Oh,” I say and stare into my bottle of Corona.



We chat about training and boxing and the upcoming MMA fight for a while before agreeing that we should all watch it together at Bentley’s place next Friday night. It feels nice to be out. It feels even better to have people to be out with and making plans with. When nine o’clock rolls around and I’m already five beers into the evening, Brock excuses himself and takes off, but not before placing a kiss on the crown of my head, which I’m happy to report did not make me cringe.

“Care to dance?” Bentley’s deep voice cuts over the music.

“You dance?!” I squawk at Bentley. He looks extra handsome tonight in a pair of well fitted Wranglers and a deep purple button-up. True to form, he has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, never one to be overly formal. He has on a pair of black boots that only add to his overall appeal. The realization that I’m inspecting him hits me hard. I must be getting too buzzed.