The Country Duet(18)

“Yeah.” The answer flows out without any thought, even though Teale isn’t my girlfriend. In fact, she’s gone right back to work and school mode after our one magical night. Hell, some nights I think it was all a dream.

“She got a nice set of tits?” He hammers me with his next question.

Just like out in the shop, I’m stunned speechless. It doesn’t stop Dave.

“Maybe if you played with them a little,” he sets down his shake and raises both hands, mimicking the motion of titty play, “then you’d be in a lot better mood. I have eighty-four years of experience, so listen to me.”

Watching an eighty-four-year-old man pretend to molest a set of boobs is more disturbing than dumping his piss bottles.

“I’ll remember that, Dave. Did you get your hundred pills down?”

“Fourteen pills. Yep, have my hydrocodone down and ready to go for the night.”

I shake my head at his reality and realize the stench of his house doesn’t bother me like it used to. “See you next week.”

I turn to walk out of the living room and to my truck, but Dave stops me.

“Hunter, if you like that girl take her dancing. It always wins over the women. Back in the day, I used to be the quickest jitterbug dancer in Juliette. The men would bring their woman to the bar, and I’d leave with them. Dancing is the quickest route to a lady’s heart.”

Jesus. Now he’s giving me dating advice. Does the mystery of this man ever end?

“I did take her dancing,” I growl.

“You must suck at it. Here.” He slowly rises from his chair. “Get your ass over here.”

“Dave, I’m not in the mood.”

“Get the fuck on with it and get over here.” He gestures wildly with an arm.

I step in closer with a smirk on my face at this nonsense.

“You gotta smooth her over. Remember you’re the king when you walk into that bar. You wear your best shirt and always a cowboy hat.”

He grabs my hands. “I’m not as good as I used to be.”

“Dave, I’m not dancing with you.”

He slaps my shoulder to shut me up. “Now you gotta get the rhythm.”

He shocks the shit out of me when he begins moving slowly, yet there’s patterned moves to him. “You practice this shit, and you’ll be down her pants in no time.”

“Don’t think she’s interested,” I reply, following his lead in the dance.

“Because your dancing sucks.”

The curse of Dave breaks my shitty mood. I laugh hard at the sight of us dancing in the middle of his living room with no music.

The drive back to my apartment is lonely in more ways than I can explain. Most of the lonely feelings are coming from the cold shoulder Teale has been serving me up with. It’s like our night never even happened. Her skinny jeans, baggy sweater, and trendy boots, the mask she hides behind, are all firmly back in place.

My phone begins ringing, and I’m in no mood to hear my mom chewing my ass for working two jobs, or to hear Frank asking me to come in. I’m in the mood to just keep driving, not stopping until a new beginning and town come into view.

I let my phone go to voicemail then, miraculously, it begins ringing again.

“Hello,” I growl into the phone.

Jesus, now I’m even beginning to sound like Dave.

“Hunter, it’s Thad.”

“Hey, man.”

Since Dave and the work at Frank’s, I’ve neglected my friends. Burton was the main go to since kindergarten, but I’ve made a decent amount of friends since being at the University of Idaho. They also know I have all my tools in the bed of my truck and the hands to fix shit.

“Broke down on the side of the road, man, thinking it’s the starter.” He pauses for a beat. “Happen to be around?”

“Where ya at?” I ask, scrubbing my face.

“Just on the outskirts of town, was heading down to Lewiston.”

“Be there in a few.”

I hang up not in any better of a mood. Sometimes it sucks ass to be the friend everyone knows they can call and rely on. It would be nice, just for once, if the tables were turned. Cranking up the music, I let the momentary pity party fly out of the window and sing along with Jason Aldean.

“Burnin’ It Down” is exactly what I’m doing right now, struggling to forget it all. Thad’s easy to spot in his damn fancy ass Range Rover on the side of the road. The damn barely dressed women and frat boys surrounding him are like beacons.

“Really,” I say to myself.

How do these grown ass men not know one thing about a car? Just another blessing of Sweetwater Ranch and the way my dad raised me.

After asking several questions and checking under the hood, it’s definitely not the starter. I begin thinking it’s the fuel pump, ready to tear the fucker apart when it dawns on me. Before I have the chance to ask my question, another car zips off the road joining our off-road party. There’s no way I’d mistake the zippy attitude of that car.

Teale.

The door to her piece of shit opens, then her long legs come into view. Red skinny jeans today and a hooded sweatshirt. She stomps her way over to me like she has all the answers in the world.

“Hunter.”

“Jeff Gordon.” I twirl the wrench in my hand.