Page 39 of The Other Side

The crook of his mouth flinches. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” I breathe, wagging my head. “You’ve opened a door, and I can’t walk back out.” My head drops as my hands plant on my forehead. The fear of staring into his eyes is too devastating. “I’m not saying for this to be anything romantic. I’m engaged. I’m not trying to have an affair, I swear. I just …” I blow out another breath, lifting my gaze to his piercing eyes. “I just want more time with you. As long as you do too.”

His stare lowers to my mouth before elevating again. He inhales, pivoting his head to the side as tension settles into his expression. “Callie, I think I need to make something clear to you.” My heart idles when he returns his eyes to me. “Of all the versions I could ever have of you, this is the last one I’d ever want,” he declares. “I don’t want your body knowing someone else gets all of it. That’s why losing something you never had hurts far less than losing something you did,” he continues. “You know how great the loss is.”

Relief crashes into me like a tsunami, but the steel bars around my heart slide closer together.

It’s a catch-22.

I manage a small nod, my voice frayed. “Okay.”

“But,” he adds, “I always want more time with you.” He flicks a gentle smirk. “You never have to ask for that. Ever.”

Chapter 14

Callie Rae

The low hum of country music mixes with the clinking of glass. Brant’s following me through the doors of The Wild Corral, the smell of wood, smoke, and beer immediately greeting us.

My palms land on the belt of my high-waisted skinny jeans when I pivot. “How did you find this place? Is it new?”

Brant slips beside me, and my eyes climb to the weathered metal of the old-fashioned pendant lights. “Sean suggested it,” he answers. “I want to say it opened up a few months ago.”

I redirect my attention forward, and my gaze roams the alleyway of the bar. It’s longer than it is wide. Paved with wood floors and mismatched tables.

Vintage signs and cowboy memorabilia decorate the velvet wall on the left, then I catch the bar counter on the right. People chat with smiles and drinks, the decibel of the sound swelling as the crowd expands.

Brant’s fingers graze my upper arm through my long sleeve. Then he escorts us to two leather stools at the bar.

We both slide onto the red cushions. I hang my crossbody on the hook beneath the bar top, then fiddle with the hem of my smocked crop top. My engagement ring glitters under the dim lighting, and Brant hails the bartender over to order a couple beers.

My eyes lazily trace the large diamond when Brant asks, “Where’s Jesse tonight?”

I quirk my mouth up in the corner, knowing Brant’s question is for me and not him. He’s reminding me that this is all this has to be.

A friendly outing.

“He’s at the cigar lounge with a few other real estate investors. They’ll be talking about their latest business conquests for some time.”

Brant’s sliding a Yuengling Lager to me. I straighten in my seat, grabbing the drink before flicking a section of hair over my shoulder.

“Sounds wild,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I hike a shoulder, tapping my glass bottle against his. “To each their own.”

Our eyes lock when we take respective sips. My stare sinks to the solid, navy flannel laid open over his white shirt, and I shed a tiny grin.

I set my beer down, and he rests one of his boots on the bottom rod of my stool. His jeans fasten around his thigh as he does, but I focus on the scuffed brown leather of the toe of his boot.

I wonder how many times he made use of them without me.

“Nice boots,” I comment, lifting my eyes to his. “You wear them a lot?”

His gaze pokes down. “Yeah, the ones from high school kicked the bucket my first year in college,” he explains. “I wouldn’t say I’ve worn these a lot, but I’ve been to a few tailgates and music festivals.”

My eyes glimmer with piqued interest. “Stop it. Which music festival?”

His brows gently groove when he answers. “No, there’s no way you were there. Dusty Trails Country Fest.”