Page 74 of Prime Time Romance

I was missing Brynn’s help until Sherry showed up. I didn’t even have to ask. She slipped under the bar and started serving without a single comment. Not that there’s all that much time to talk. I think everyone in town is here.

I stop serving long enough to appreciate all of my hard work, and my eyes land on a pale-pink cowboy hat weaving its way through the crowd. Although I can’t see the person’s face, I somehow know who it is even before she looks up.

“Howdy, partner.” Brynn attempts to tip the brim but tugs too hard, and it ends up on the floor.

“Where did you find that?”

She turns a slow 360, tipping over slightly as she gets stuck in her twist. “I think her name was Jennifer. Or maybe Deb. But there was definitely a Jennifer involved.”

She smiles, and I immediately see it. The sheen to her eyes. The sleepy smile.

“Brynn, are you drunk?”

She stumbles forward and places her elbows on the bar. “I’m not Brynn, remember? I’m Sloan.”

She splays her arms, and I catch sight of the bottle in her bag.

“What is that?” I point to her purse.

“That’s my purse wine.”

“Did you drink all of it?”

She pulls it out and slams it hard onto the bar top. “Yup. It tastes like summer. Luce made it. We’re friends now. Turns out I’m the jerk and not her. And I’m still thirsty. I could really go for a beer.”

I pull a glass from the stack, fill it, and give it to her. She takes a drink and winces. “Is this tequila?”

“It’s water.”

She hands it back to me. “Well, I ordered tequila.”

I leave it on the counter between us. “I think you may need a few more of these first.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Don’t kill my vibe, Fletch.”

I’m not Fletch.

“It’s Josh. And I’m trying to make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret in the morning.”

She smiles slowly, the glass pressed to her lips. “Like what?”

I might be imagining it, but I swear I see her eyes flick to the apartment upstairs.

My mouth dries. And before I can compose the kind of answer to that question that won’t leave both of us regretting something, there’s a sharp whistle from the other side of the bar. Sherry makes eye contact and then jerks her head to the line of people waiting to order beer. When I turn back to check on Brynn, all I see is the stupid hat on her head again, heading for the dance floor.

I lose track of time, caught in the rhythm of popping caps and pouring shots. I keep my eye out for Brynn. The hat, although ridiculous, makes it easy to spot her dancing in the crowd.

Someone orders a margarita. And in the distraction of cutting limes and shaking ice, I lose her until I hear whistling. And catcalling. And my stomach drops like a rock.

She’s on the stage. Arms in the air. Sundress riding up her thighs. Head thrown back as she shakes in time to the music.

She looks good. And sexy. And I know that half the bar would agree with me.

“Get it together, Fletch. You’re getting that everywhere.”

I tear my eyes from Brynn to look at Sherry, who is nodding at the crushed limes in my hand. Her eyes follow mine back to the stage, where Brynn is now joined by two dancing dudes and a bass-playing Dingo vying for her attention.

Sherry shakes her head. “Better go get your girl.”