Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(60)
And Wes really did need to get out. He’d stopped socializing almost completely, except with his coworkers. He and Miles led a quiet existence in the apartment, chatting about surface stuff only, as if Miles could sense how off Wes had been since the ranch, and he didn’t want to upset the balance by peppering Wes with questions or attention. And, Wes realized as he contemplated his outfit, he’d been so self-absorbed that he’d never bugged Miles about his weird mood at the ranch. But Miles seemed happy again, back at work, so Wes let it go.
Maybe I’m not the only one allergic to sunshine and dirt.
“Oh God, you’re not this out of practice.” Sophie stomped into his closet and grabbed a green, sleeveless tee with the word Flirt stitched on it in sequins. “Wear this. Black jeans, and those tie-up boots. Now hurry up, the night is wasting.”
“For someone who isn’t married yet, you’re getting really good at the whole barking orders thing,” Wes said.
“And for someone who swore off relationships, you’re really good at this whole pining with a broken heart thing.”
Wes growled, then started changing his clothes. He even took a minute to style his hair and put on some eyeliner. It always made his blue eyes pop when he lined them, and even though he wasn’t sure he was in the mood for a hookup, a little bit of flirting and heavy grinding might pull him out of his post-Mack funk. Prove to himself he was still desirable, damn it.
Sophie drove her car, and all too soon they were walking into the techno-beat of Club Base, a familiar hunting ground for queer men of all persuasions. Since Wes wasn’t driving, he ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Sophie got her usual chocolate martini to sip. She was unusually attached to her phone as they nursed their drinks near the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Whatever. Conrad probably wanted her checking in every hour, on the hour.
They might be at a gay bar, but it wasn’t totally unheard of for creepy straight guys to hang out and try to mack on the ladies.
Good God, don’t think the word mack.
Wes surveyed the pickings, noting a hell of a lot of hot faces and bodies out there, but nothing really got him going. He decided alcohol was the key to getting in the mood, downed his first drink, then went back for a second. Drowning his feelings in the pleasantly strong drinks definitely helped. He’d finished his second by the time Sophie sipped her way through the martini. They both deposited their glasses, and then headed for the floor.
Dancing came as naturally to Wes as acting, and even though he’d never been professionally trained, he’d busted a few awesome moves during high school musical theater, and it definitely helped at his current night job. It wasn’t long before he and Sophie became the center of attention of a small crowd of men, plus two women. Wes wasn’t sure if they were lesbians or straight BFFs, and he didn’t really care. He danced with whoever was pressed against his front or back at the moment, and he started to lose himself in it. To let go and live inside the music.
Until Sophie’s shrill “Hey! You guys made it!” startled Wes out of the beat.
He opened his eyes, and then blinked hard, positive he’d had too much to drink. No fucking way were Mack and Colt standing less than two feet away from him.
Except they totally were, and Sophie’s words hit him right in the gut. “What the hell, Soph?”
The instant Colt looked at Sophie with a smug smile, Wes knew they’d been set up. Mack, for his part, was glaring at Colt, hands tucked deep in his hella-tight jeans. Hella-tight jeans that showed off his ass and package, just like his hella-tight T-shirt showed off that broad, sculpted chest and—nope.
Don’t go there. He’s not interested.
“You two need to talk and get this mess out of your systems,” Sophie said. “Then either fuck it out, or move on, but you’re driving us both nuts.”
“Excuse me?” Wes pointed a finger at Mack. “He’s the one who dumped me and acted like an asshole about it.”
“I sent you an email apologizing,” Mack snapped. “You never responded.”
For a second, Wes blamed the loud dance music on Mack’s words, but no, he’d said them. “I never got an email from you.” Wait, Mack had tried to apologize? “Why did you apologize?”
Mack started to answer, but a dancer stumbled into him. “Can we talk somewhere else, please?”
“Go.” Sophie gave Wes a gentle push. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got Colt to protect me.”
Wes glared at the big, blond cowboy. “Don’t touch my sister.”
“Don’t worry, pal,” Colt said with a laugh, “she doesn’t have the right equipment.”
Wes reluctantly followed Mack toward the front of the club, expecting him to head to the bar or something. Instead, Mack led him outside into the hot summer night. Wes was tipsy enough to simply follow, innately trusting Mack, no matter what came next. Mack led him down the block to an all-night diner that Wes had visited dozens of times for greasy food after a night out clubbing.
Mack ordered them both coffee and a basket of cheese fries the moment their waiter came over. Wes didn’t say anything, not entirely sure why Mack was here, and completely unbothered by the fact that Mack had ordered for him—which was weird, because he didn’t remember telling Mack that cheese fries were one of his favorite guilty pleasures.
Whatever. Mack had been pretty clear about his feelings back at the ranch, but an email? An email from the ranch...