All I See Is You

7. This Ain’t No Love Song

Chapter seven

This Ain’t No Love Song

Hux

A little over three years ago, you’d be as likely to find me at a bar on a Saturday night as a rodeo. Funny how quickly things changed. I didn’t go out much anymore. First, it was hard enough navigating the places that I spent most of my time in, unfamiliar places were a whole new level of hell. But secondly, I hated when people realized who I was. It wasn’t everywhere, it wasn’t all the time, but it was frequent enough to be a pain in the ass. I did everything I could not to think about my life before the accident. About rodeos and bull riding and championship buckles.

It sucked. All that time, all that money, all the blood, sweat, and tears I’d poured into making a name for myself, to have it gone in a night. In eight damn seconds, to be exact.

Quinn’s friend, Whit, had gotten us all an Uber to one of the local bars in town. Worry pumped through my veins, making my heart stammer a bit in my chest as I got out. This had been a mistake. I didn’t do this. Didn’t go out with the guys.

I had half a mind to turn around and get back in the Uber and pay them to take me home.

“Hey, you okay?” Quinn’s voice was gentle and warm, somehow cutting through the chaos of Main Street surrounding us. I felt the closeness of people as they milled about, the rumble of engines as they purred behind me while driving by. Music thumped dully from ahead of me in the bar—The Hitching Post, if Travis had anything to do with it. Then there was the sound of the group talking.

It was sensory overload. I hated when it got too loud. It fucked with my mind a bit. I made mistakes. Bumped into shit.

“It’s loud,” I found myself saying.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have t—”

A flash of defiancé sparked in me, and I gritted my teeth. “No. I’m okay. Just tryin’ to get my bearings.”

I said I’d go out, and I wasn’t a damn quitter. I could manage for a few hours.

“Here…can I at least help you?”

A warm hand settled in my right one, knotting through my fingers. Her already familiar scent drifted on the breeze. It settled around me, soothing some of my pent up frustration and worry.

I nodded.

She led me forward, careful to go slow, telling me where I was and the layout as we went. A lump lodged in my throat. I hated feeling so hopeless, but having her help—no one did that. Not that I really gave many a chance, but still.

She couldn’t possibly know what her kindness did to me.

“I think they’re heading for the pool tables, did you want to go with them?” she asked.

“How crowded does it look over there?”

I let the poppy country music wash over me, along with the familiar sounds and smells of the bar. I might not know the layout of this one, but there was a familiarity here. They all reeked of spilt liquor and the faint smell of cigarettes—even the ones you couldn’t smoke in.

“It’s pretty busy,” she said over the music.

“What about the bar?” I asked, glancing to the left, trying to make sense of the layout Quinn had described.

“Basically empty. There’s a couple at the other end, but that’s it.”

I nodded. “Wanna get a drink?”

“Sure.”

I let her lead me forward. She went slowly, carefully, and I appreciated that. I hated nothing more than tripping over myself and looking like an idiot. I’d be damned if I used a fucking walking stick, and going slow was the only way I could get around. So opposite out how I’d been before. A knot of sadness sprung to life in my chest, but it didn’t last long. Not as Quinn’s soft voice cut through the chaos.

“Here’s a stool right ahead of you.” She guided my hand toward the seat. I didn’t normally like having help doing things like this, but, I don’t know, there was something about how gentle she was that I didn’t really mind right now.

I managed to get situated in my seat when a sultry, feminine voice sounded from before me. “Hi, y’all. What can I get ya?”

“What’dya want?” I asked, reaching my right hand out toward where I thought Quinn was, coming into contact with her bare thigh. Something stirred in me. Damn, I hadn’t meant to do that.

She didn’t push my hand away, but I didn’t miss the sharp hiss that escaped her. I wondered if that was good or bad. “Um…can I get a mudslide, please?”

I balked at that. A mudslide? Really? What was she, twelve?

“Can I see your I.D., miss?”

Huh. I wondered how young she was. She sounded young, but young enough to get carded? A trickled of worry stirred in my chest that I pushed back down.

“Sure.”

After a couple moments of silence, the waitress made a satisfactory sound and asked, “And you, sir?”

The worry knotted in my chest eased. Thank fuck she was over twenty-one. “I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks, please.”

“You got it.” The bartender’s words were already drifting away, like she was walking as she talked.

Even though I couldn’t see her, I turned to face Quinn in my seat. “A mudslide?” I scoffed. “Really?”

A soft laugh escaped her. “What? If I’m going to drink, I want it to taste good.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. "At least you got somethin’ with some whiskey in it.”

She made a gagging sound. “Ew, whiskey and I do not mix.”

“Darlin',” I huffed. “You do know there's whiskey in it right?"

"What, really? I don't usually like it."

"I don’t know if this friendship’s gonna work out between us if you don't like whiskey," I said with a soft laugh.

“What?” Her gasp drew the corner of my lips upward. “What are you talking about?”

“I got a real close relationship with my friends Jack, Jimmy, and Jameson. If you don’t get along with them…well, I don't know if this can work.”

A beat of silence. Two. Three. “I don’t get it.”

I dropped my head forward, wiping a hand down my face. She sounded so clueless. “You know… Jack Daniels. Jim Beam. Jameson whiskey.”

Another moment of quiet, the only sound that of some shitty new country song blasting from the speakers. Couldn’t they play some Garth or something from the King of Country himself?

“Oh! I get it!” she finally gasped, an embarrassed laugh bubbling out of her.

I shook my head, trying and failing to bite back a smirk. “Oh, well bless your heart, you sweet, innocent thing, you.”

“Hey!” Her tone took on a defensive edge, and a soft, firm pressure pressed against my chest, nudging me backward slightly. Did she just push me ? “That’s not true! I am not all that innocent.”

“Really?” I scoffed, my brow rising in question.

Something brushed against my leg, before settling there. I reached out a hand, feeling her thigh once more. Another spark. Another flutter in my chest. Did this girl have magic in her or something, or was I just that lonely that the simplest touch stirred something in my soul I’d thought long gone?

I pulled my hand away, even if a part of me told me to leave it. It was hard enough reading a woman’s emotions, but now it was even fucking harder. I only had her voice and touch to go off of. And while both seemed inviting enough, I wasn’t confident in pushing forward.

“When I was in tenth grade, I got invited to prom by a senior,” she said, her voice rising as she spoke. “My parents let me go, but were adamant that I be home by midnight. I stayed out til two, though.”

My head fell back, a laugh falling from my lips. Oh God, this girl really was innocent. “Shit, two hours late. Look at you, you rebel.”

Another nudge to my shoulder. “It was a big deal! I got grounded for a week!”

“That’s nothin’. I got kicked out of my prom for spikin’ all the drinks at the refreshments station.”

“Shut up! You did not?”

“Sure did,” I chuckled, thinking back on a simpler time. A simpler world. Back when I’d been crazy and wild and full of mischief.

“Here’s your drinks,” The bartender’s voice stopped our conversation. “Should I open a tab for you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, fishing out my wallet from my back pocket before grabbing my card and handing it to her.

“Sounds good, I’ll keep it open, Mr. Lane—Wait…you’re Huxson Lane? Like, the Huxson Lane?”

Fuck. I blew out a slow breath, fighting the disappointment and annoyance welling inside me. I knew this would happen. Damn it.

“I used to be.” I didn’t know exactly where she stood in relation to me, but I made sure my face and tone told her everything she needed to know. I wasn’t talking about this. Not now.

“O-oh…sorry, sir. I’ll get that opened up for you. Let me know if y’all need anythin’ else.”

I nodded. “A shot of Jameson too, please. Make it a double.”

Tonight was gonna be one of those nights.

“Right away, sir.”

I reached slowly forward, my hand bumping into the plastic whiskey tumbler. I grabbed it and drained it in a single go—the burn a blessed distraction from the emotions writhing in me.

I wondered what Quinn thought. If she was confused or worried about the change in my attitude.

Her light voice drew my attention, chasing away some of the dark, angry emotions roiling in my soul. “I can’t believe you spiked the drinks.” If she sensed the shift in me, she didn’t let on. For that, I was glad.

I nodded. “That was nothin’. I got a whole long list of dumb shit I did growin’ up.”

Her laughter was warm. “How old are you?” she asked after a moment.

“Here you go, sir,” The bartender cut in. I heard the clink of the glass against the countertop.

I nodded. “Thank you. And another whiskey on the rocks, please.” I turned my unseeing gaze back on Quinn, wondering more and more what she looked like? Was she a brunette? A blonde? Tall or short? Was she covered in tattoos? I doubted that. She seemed too innocent. But it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been wrong about someone.

“I turn thirty-three in November,” I replied to her.

“No way!” Her words shook with disbelief. “You don’t look that old at all!”

I chuckled. “I feel that old. Older even.” A career as a bull rider wasn’t an easy one. I had the scars to prove it. Sometimes just getting out of bed felt like an insurmountable feat. I felt around for one of my shot glasses and threw it back easily enough. “How old are you?” I asked past the familiar burn.

A pause, and then nervously, “Not gonna lie, I’m kinda scared to tell you now.”

Unease stirred within me once more. “You’re over twenty-one, right? Or did you just give her a really good fake I.D?”

She laughed, the sound light and lyrical and enchanting. God, it did something to me. I hoped like I hell I wasn’t flirting with some teenager.

“No. I just turned twenty-three in March.”

I blew out a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. “Thank fuck.”

Another laugh, though there was a nervous edge to it. “It’s not a problem for you?”

I shrugged, and with a confidence I hadn’t felt a few moments ago— whiskey must be kicking in —I rested a hand on her thigh. “As long as you’re okay sittin’ here with my old ass, I’m fine with it. And…I don’t know, you hold yourself together like you’re older. I mean you’re innocent as fuck, but I have a feelin’ you got some fire in you.”

The warm feel of her hand on mine sent a rush through me. “Good,” she replied, low and sultry.

Yeah, she may seem all innocent, but there was something there. A flicker of desire just waiting to turn into a living, breathing inferno. And I didn’t mind being the one to stoke the flames.

“I have an idea,” Quinn said, an excited edge to her voice.

“Am I gonna like this?”

“I mean, it involves getting to know me and drinking, so you tell me?”

I shrugged, my lips curving upward. “Sounds good to me.”

Her laughter warmed me from the inside out, more thoroughly than the liquor in my bloodstream. “It’s a game. Kinda like truth or dare, but instead of a dare, you drink.”

“Sounds easy enough…but it ain’t fair that I’m over here drinkin’ straight alcohol and your drinkin’ some weak ass bullshit.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed. “But no shots. I can’t shoot liquor to save my life.”

I bet a bit of time with me and we could fix that. “Fine, how about another mudslide?”

“Deal.”

I didn’t even have to call the bartender over. As she delivered my whiskey on the rocks, I ordered another mudslide for Quinn.

“Alright, ladies first,” I said, situating myself to face Quinn’s direction more fully.

“Hmmm…okay, I’m going to start out easy. What’s your favorite food?”

I huffed. Really? My favorite food? “Easy,” I replied. “Steak and potatoes.”

She laughed. “How come that doesn’t surprise me at all?”

I shrugged, nodding in her general direction. “What? Let me guess, you like something like chips and salsa, tacos, and a marg with the girls?”

A gasp came from her, another light nudge to my shoulder. “Rude of you to assume!” Her voice was defensive, but also warm, happy. She couldn’t obviously be too offended. “But it's also true.”

I smirked, dipping my head in a nod and taking a sip of my whiskey. “I’m just gonna go ahead and drink for that.”

She laughed. “Alright, my turn again.” A pause, then… “What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”

My head fell back, a huff of laughter escaping me. “Ah, shit…the dumbest? I don’t know. It’s all pretty dumb. But I think the worst was when I was, like, thirteen, my friends and I tried ridin’ one of their dad's prize buckin’ bulls. Thing was a fuckin’ beast and had like an undefeated record. I lasted maybe a second before that sonova bitch bucked me into the fence. Shattered my arm and broke a couple ribs.” I ran my fingertips over the scar along the outside of my left forearm from one of the surgeries I’d had on it.

“Oh my God!” The disbelief in her tone brought a smirk to my lips. “That is…far wilder than anything I’ve done.”

Unsurprising, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need her to tell me what all dumb shit she’d done, I had questions of my own. “Alright, my turn… What do you look like?”

“Like, my hair color or—”

“All of it,” I replied. I wanted—no, needed to know. I had so many different potential versions of her swirling up in my head, but I wanted to have an image of her. Even if I’d never truly see her. Even if it was the wrong image, I needed to know.

“Hmm…okay, well, I’m short, like, really short. I’m barely five feet tall, and I guess you could say I have curves. Like, I’m not straight up and down. I have a heart shaped—no, circular shaped face. Actually, I don’t know, it might be a blend of both?” She let out a nervous laugh. “I have freckles on my nose and cheeks. When I was little, kids made fun of me for them, so my mom told me it was just left over fairy dust from the fairies who visited me in my dreams.”

A soft smile threatened my lips at the image that came to mind.

“My eyes are a blueish green, but they have a ring of gold in them. Some, stupid people mistake them for hazel, but they absolutely aren’t hazel.”

Her adamant tone made my smile crack across my lips. Between the sound of her voice, the image I was conjuring in my mind of her, and the effects of the whiskey, I was feeling pretty good.

“I believe you,” I chuckled. “What about your hair?”

She blew out a breath before a trill of laughter fell between us. Sounded like someone was feeling a bit tipsy. How was beyond me. She’d hardly drank anything. I was the one who should be buzzing. But that wasn’t entirely surprising if her wild, rebel story was staying out a couple hours late for prom. “So, if you were asking Whit, she’d probably tell you something like vanilla swirl with a dash of almond butter,” Quinn finally said, her words taking on a haughty tone.

“Sounds like you’re orderin’ a damn coffee,” I muttered.

More giggles bubbled out of her and I found myself smiling as the sound washed over me. I liked her laugh. I liked that it wasn’t one of those high-pitched fake ass laughs meant to sound sexy or cute. It reminded me of sunlight. And I wanted to hear more of it.

“It kinda does, doesn’t it? It’s blonde, though. But not like a golden blonde…more of like a pale blonde with warm lowlights. Does that make sense?”

I shrugged. “It’s blonde.”

She huffed a laugh. “Sure. Oh, and it’s long. Like, really, really long.”

“How long? Like down past your ass?”

“No! It brushes my hips when I walk. Here—” Her delicate hand clasped mine gently as she guided it forward. In the next instant, a soft lock of hair brushed against the inside of my palm. I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the length of it in its entirety, my fingers coming into contact with her body. Her hips.

There wasn’t anything overtly, or really even remotely for that matter, sexy about this moment, but it pumped adrenaline and desire through my veins, lending to the intoxicating rush that the whiskey gave me. I wanted to touch more of her. All of her.

Hold your roll, idiot.

I thought of all the things she’d told me about herself, conjuring an image in my mind like a painter painting a masterpiece. The final result was nothing short of perfection. “You sound gorgeous,” I blurted out.

More warm, heady laughter. “Thank you,” she said softly, timidly, like she didn’t quite believe it. I could envision her tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she pursed her lips.

I ran my hand over her thigh once more and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I mean it.”

A soft little noise came from her. Not quite a gasp, but not a laugh either. It was an appreciative sound. “Who’s turn is it again?” she asked, her voice slightly breathy.

I liked that I affected her. I liked even more that I seemed to be able to read her easily enough. “I think it’s yours,” I murmured.

“Hmm…” She drew the sound out for a while, her leg tapping against mine as she thought. After a moment, she blew out a breath. “Pass. I need a minute to think.”

“You okay?” I asked, worry stirring in my chest.

“I’m fine,” she giggled. “I just think the alcohol is kicking in a bit and I—well, let’s just say you’re distracting me.”

I chuckled, reaching for my drink. My fingers brushed against the other I’d ordered. “What do you mean I’m distracting you?”

“Ugh, are you really gonna make me say it?” she groaned.

“Say what?” One of my brows quirked upward.

“Look—” Her tone turned more assertive. “You’re really, really hot, and between me being a bit buzzed and your stupid, teasing touches…well, you’re distracting me.”

A smile stretched across my face, a sense of satisfaction bubbling within me. When was the last time I’d felt this good? It’d been a long time, that's for damn sure.

“How are you buzzin’ off a fuckin’ milkshake?” I huffed.

“It’s strong, okay?”

“Sure it is.” My words dripped with sarcasm.

Her answering laughter set my heart fluttering like hummingbird wings. I liked making her laugh. It warmed something in my soul—the dark, ugly, cold piece of me that had taken root after my accident.

“Alright,” I said, steering the conversation back to the game. “What made you want to do event planning?”

“My mom passing away, actually.”

“Really?” I remembered her mentioning something about her mom passing away when she was a teen. I wondered how that inspired her.

“Yeah. So, my dad was, like, a total wreck after my mom died, which, I mean, understandable. And my grandparents are, like, super, super old. They couldn’t take on planning an event like that. With most of our family in Northern California, I just kinda took it upon myself to get everything done.” A soft laugh spanned the brief silence where her last sentence ended and a new one started. “It was actually really…cathartic. On the day of her celebration of life, everyone kept saying how I’d done such a great job capturing my mom’s essence. They felt like I’d brought a piece of her back to life. And well—” A pause “—that’s when I realized I wanted to do this for a living.”

I nodded and finished off the last of my whiskey on the rocks, draining it easily. “I like that. It’s not easy lookin’ at a shitty situation and findin’ something positive in it.” Fuck, I was still trying to do that myself. Then there was this girl who'd done it as a teenager. She might be younger than me, but she was a hell of a lot wiser.

“Exactly. So that’s one of my big goals with planning events. It’s so much more than that. It’s a piece of someone. Whether it’s as simple as a luncheon or a charity event, a first birthday or a memorial. I don’t want to just plan events, I want to breathe life into them.”

Something cracked in me.

I want to breathe life into them. That should be her catch phrase or something.

If I believed anyone could do that, it was her.

But Quinn’s next words turned the warmth in my soul to ice. “What about you? Have you always been a ranch hand?”

I blew out a breath. “I grew up on a ranch, so it’s always been in my blood…” And I don’t know if it was the whiskey kicking in or the fact that she’d been so goddamn open with me, but I found myself saying, “There was a good amount of time, though, that I was pretty big into rodeoin’.”

“Really?” Intrigue and wonder filled her voice, and I instantly regretted the decision to say anything.

Fuck . No amount of alcohol loosened me up enough to want to talk about this. It still hurt too damn much nearly three years later. I still felt the loss. Like a fucking phantom limb or something. That part of me was gone, but the pain from it all still remained.

Sometimes…on really bad days, I almost wished that I’d died. But I’d always been a prideful, stubborn sonofabitch and giving up just wasn’t really in my blood.

“Is that…is that how you had your accident?” I didn’t miss the trepidation and hesitance in her tone.

I bit the inside of my cheek, frustration mixing with the whiskey in my veins. A deadly combo. I went to reach for one of my drinks but they were all empty. Fuck .

“Next question,” I said, the words little more than a growl.

“I’m…sorry.” Her words were sincere, soft, as well as her hand on my leg.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

And hopefully she never would. I didn’t need her to feel sorry for me. Didn’t want her pity. It’s why I never talked about it in the first place.

For the first time since getting to the bar, we fell into an awkward silence. I was still too hot to continue the game, and I could only imagine all the things going through her head, so I did the only thing that made sense: called over the bartender.

After ordering and pounding back another shot, the anger finally started to ebb, even as my words finally started to slur.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I don’t like talkin’ about my past.”

To her credit, she sounded just as sincere as earlier. “You don’t have to apologize, Hux. I get it…I mean, I don’t get the extent of your injury, but you have no obligation to tell me what happened.”

“There you two lovebirds are!” I recognized Travis’ voice as it boomed over the music. A moment later, something heavy clapped me on the shoulder, startling the fuck out of me. Goddamn .

“We’ve been looking for you!” Quinn’s friend, Whit, joined in.

“Obviously not very hard,” Quinn replied, her voice taking on a sing-songy note. “We’ve been here the whole time.”

Whit’s tone bubbled with excitement, her words a bit breathy and high-pitched. “I hate to drag her away, but can I steal Quinnie for a moment?”

“She’s her own person,” I grumbled. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“Oh…um.” I could just imagine Whit looking at me with a blank expression on her face, unsure how to take my tone.

Quinn laughed, though, and brushed a hand against mine. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

A shiver went through me at the whisper-soft touch, chasing away more of the anger—no small feat. Maybe I was onto something earlier. Maybe she did have magic in those hands of hers. Desire rippled to life in me. I nodded in her general direction, feeling the air shift as she moved. Her lemongrass and vanilla scent drifted away before disappearing entirely.

“Well, damn, weren’t expectin’ this for your Saturday night, right?” Travis said, followed by one of his goofy ass laughs. “Wonder what the fuck they see in us? They’re way outta our league.”

I huffed. “Speak for yourself, dumbass.”

But his words stirred something in my soul. A tiny, traitorous fear that grew and grew the more I thought about it.

What did Quinn see in me? Was she truly enjoying herself or did she just feel guilty? It wouldn’t be the first time that happened. The first pity date.

Fear sparked in that cold, dead part of me, igniting like kindling while being stoked by the flames of my whiskey-fueled anger. With Quinn not here to chase away the darkness, doubt crept in, mingling with my worries until I bristled with fury.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Concern rang in Travis’ tone. But I didn’t want his concern. His worry. His inevitable pity.

“I’m fine.”

Travis and I had worked together long enough that he knew when not to push me for information. “Alright. Wanna come back to the pool tables with us?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Let me know if you need anythin’, okay?”

I nodded, offering him a dismissive wave. A moment later, I could make out the sound of his retreating footsteps. Turning myself toward the bar, I managed to get the bartender’s attention.

“What can I do for ya, sir?” she asked.

“I wanna close my tab.”

Maybe Quinn really was into me. Maybe she wasn’t. But I didn’t want to wait and find out.