In Honor (22 page)

Shana points, and I remember I’ve been there before. “Never mind.” I smile. “I know where it is.” I start to walk away but then turn around and point at the both of them. “You two. Go dance.”

Rusty nods, and Shana winks, and as I weave my way across the dance floor to the bathroom, I decide I really, really like her. I like that she called Rusty my boy, and I wonder if she really thinks he is. ’Cuz he could be my boy, maybe. I don’t know, I never thought of it. Well, that’s not true. I thought of it when he saved us from crashing Paula, the dirty porn-star car, and when he was in his underwear in the monsoon. And then when we went swimming today and he jumped off that swing—

“Which guy are you talking about?” The voice startles me. Oh my god, was I actually talking out loud just then? I think I might’ve been. There’s a girl standing next to me holding a beer, and we’re in line for the bathroom, and she looks really interested, and I’m pointing across the room to our booth. Holy crap, I’m drunk. “Um . . . nobody,” I say quickly. “Nobody at all.”

The bathroom door opens up, and I’m so glad it’s my turn because I have to pee worse than I can ever remember. A girl comes out, then a guy trying to look all casual, and I give them a dirty look because they were probably making out in the bathroom, or worse, which is so dirty. I would never make out in a bathroom. Why’s everyone so dirty?

I take care of my business as quick as I can, then check myself over in the mirror as I wash my hands. It’s easier to see if I squeeze one eye shut, so I do, and I don’t look half-bad. I look pretty good, in fact, and that’s good, ’cuz it’s time to find my boy and go dance. Ha. My boy.

Guitar and drums rush loud at me when I open the door, and everyone on the dance floor spins crazy and wild, and Rusty and Shana are right in the middle of it. And oh my god, she was right! How did I never know he could dance like that? He spins her fast, so her hair and the towel tucked in her back pocket both swing out behind her, then he ducks under her arm and turns her around so they’re chest to chest for a second, all sexy and close, like the people on those dance shows.

I’m gonna dance with Rusty like that.

I walk out onto the dance floor and Shana sees me and waves me over, and when I get there, she puts Rusty’s hand in mine. “Here. You take over,” she says, out of breath. “I got a drink order, but he’s just gettin’ started.” She winks, then smacks both our butts before she ducks off the dance floor and I lose her in the crowd.

Rusty grins, then bends down and puts his mouth so close to my ear I can feel his breath on my neck, and it gets me all tingly inside. “You ready to dance?” he asks. I nod. Oh yes, I’m ready to dance. He stands up with his eyes shining and his hair kind of tousled, and he’s looking at me again with those eyes.

“All right. Just follow me, okay?” I nod again, and when he puts a hand on the small of my back and pulls me in close, I decide I’d follow him right into the bathroom to make out if he wanted to. It’s so wrong, I know, but I’ve had enough tequila to make it seem a little bit right. I hope for a second I didn’t just say that out loud, then decide so what if I did. I wouldn’t take it back.

Rusty spins me out, then back in, and catches me, and we’re moving across the floor, and I’m laughing because I really didn’t know he could dance like this or that I wanted to kiss him so bad. I should do it right now, while we’re dancing and I’m brave.

I try to think for a second, but I don’t have time because we twist, back to back, arm over arm, then spin again, and now his hand’s on my waist, and
wow
that’s good. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna kiss him the next time he pulls me in. Which should be any second, because I think I’m getting these dance steps. He throws me out again with one hand, and his other one comes out of nowhere and grabs me, pulls me around his back, and in one more twist . . . we’re right there. Chest to chest. Closer than close. I lift my chin. He looks down at me. And it’s now or never. I’m gonna kiss Rusty.

25

I’m gonna die, I know it.

Tequila was gonna be the death of me, no doubt. I lay still. Didn’t dare move or even open my eyes just yet, because if I did either one, my head might honestly explode. Or I might throw up. Or both. I just lay there instead and tried to talk my body into going back to sleep for however long it would take for this feeling to go away. This had to be what death felt like. Either that or my first tequila hangover.

I almost gagged thinking about it. I’d taken that shot, and then Shana brought another one, and then . . . well . . . it had to have gone downhill from there, because everything after that was a series of fuzzy flashes: Wade Bowen up on stage . . . empty beer bottles and shot glasses all over the table . . . Rusty dancing with Shana . . . Rusty dancing with me. Me thinking it was a good idea to kiss Rusty . . .

Oh god.

I didn’t. Did I?

I rubbed my forehead, trying to somehow pull the answer out of the haze that had settled there, but the harder I tried, the more my head pounded. Maybe my brain was trying to protect me from the answer. No matter that it hadn’t bothered to remind me the night before what a bad idea kissing Rusty would be.

I rolled over and forced my eyes open. I was back in Celia and Bru’s guest room, still in last night’s clothes, boots and all. That was the sound of Bru and Rusty’s voices drifting down the hall, and the smell of bacon cooking. And that sudden watery feeling in my mouth? That was my stomach warning me I was about to pay for last night. I jumped up and ran for the bathroom, faster than I would’ve thought I could in my current state, and made it just in time. Barely.

After, I rinsed my mouth out and took a good look in the mirror. Not only did I feel like hell, I looked it too, eyes all red and puffy, wild, tangly hair. And . . . was that . . . marker on my collarbone? I leaned forward and squinted at the backward writing in the mirror. Wade B. Wow. I had Wade Bowen sign me. I didn’t know what was worse. That or the possibility I’d kissed Rusty.
Or
that I was gonna have to go out there and face him without knowing.
Oh, god
.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Honor? You all right in there, honey?” It was Celia.

“Yeah, I . . . was just about to get in the shower,” I said as brightly as I could.

“Okay. Well, I’m going into town to run a few errands. Anything you need for the rest of the trip? The Fed Ex guy dropped off that part early this morning, and Rusty says he should have you back on the road to Kyra Kelley before noon.”

“Really? That soon?” I thought I might throw up again. I knew we needed to get going, but the last thing I wanted to do today was hop back in the Pala and spend five or six uninterrupted hours with Rusty and a desert highway, even if we did make it and I got ahold of Kyra Kelley’s assistant—I reached in my skirt pocket for Ashley’s folded-up receipt with the number on it but came up empty. I patted and searched the other pockets with panicky hands. Nothing.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
I’d kept it on me since she gave it to me, a little piece of hope folded up in my pocket so I wouldn’t lose it. But then I lost the entire night, and now—

“I was going to pick up some snacks for you two,” Celia said through the door. “Anything else you need?”

That little piece of paper!

I strained against the fog in my memory, trying to figure out if I’d put it somewhere else—Celia’s truck, maybe, or my purse. But I hadn’t had one with me—so I slipped it into my pocket. That much I could remember.

“Honor? You sure you’re all right in there?”

I shook my head at my pitiful reflection, then tried to suck it up even though I wanted to cry. And open the door and bury my face in her shoulder and tell her I wasn’t near all right. That I’d lost my one chance to meet Kyra Kelley and tell her about Finn, like he asked me to do. The
one
thing he’d asked me to do. And now the one thing I’d failed at, all because I’d been trying to show off for Rusty. Thank god I hadn’t had the tickets with me. Or his letter.

I tried to clear the regret lumped at the back of my throat. “I’m fine, thank you,” I called through the door. “I’m just gonna get cleaned up.” I reached out a shaky hand and turned on the water, hoping that was enough to send her on her way. Right now, all I wanted was a shower. And a magical cure for my own stupidity.

“Grease,” Bru said, when I stepped into the kitchen. “Best cure for a hangover.” He was sitting at the table, finishing up what had been a plate of eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Rusty stood at the stove with his back to me, pushing something around a pan with a spatula. I swallowed down my nausea.

“What about bad decisions?” I asked, pulling out a chair next to Bru. “Got a cure for those too?” Rusty turned around then with a smile that confirmed my fear that I hadn’t just
thought
about kissing him. I dodged his eyes and turned to Bru. “I think I might’ve made a few last night.”

Bru raised an eyebrow. “That one’s a lot trickier.” He looked from me to Rusty in a way that seemed like he’d added some things up, then sopped up the last of his runny egg yolk with a bit of toast. “Nothing easy for that. Humility, mostly.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed his chair back from the table, then walked over to Rusty with his empty plate. “I gotta head out, but you can use whatever tools I got out there, all right?”

“Thank you,” Rusty said.

Bru patted him on the arm. “And thank you for breakfast. That’s the best cookin’ I’ve had in a while. Truly.” He grabbed his hat off the hook and put it on. “I’ll be back before you go.”

I nodded as Bru stepped out of the kitchen, leaving me and Rusty alone, which was awkward in about eight different ways. He didn’t look nearly as bad as I felt. Actually, he was all bright eyed and clean shaven. He walked over with two plates of picture-perfect breakfast and set one in front of me, then sat down across the table. I waited for it. For him to come out with some comment about me, and him. And me kissing him. He didn’t, though. He just picked up his fork and used the edge of it to slice into his sunny-side-up egg.

I watched him chew and decided he was holding out to make me bring it up first. “I didn’t know you could cook,” I said, intent on not bringing it up at all.

“You didn’t know I could dance, either, until last night.” He smiled, then shoveled a bite of egg and potatoes into his mouth. There it was. I knew it. I did kiss him. He pointed with his empty fork at my plate. “You should eat something. It might help.”

That would definitely not help. “No thanks,” I said, pushing my plate away. “Still a little queasy over here.” A new strategy for dealing with this whole thing occurred to me, and I tried to sound as casual as I could. “So . . . we must’ve had
a lot
to drink last night. I mean, I don’t remember
anything
. I probably had no idea what I was doing.”

Rusty laughed. “Oh, you knew what you were doing. Between the dancing on the stage and the body shot you took off Shana, you seemed like an old pro.”

“
What?
Are you
serious
?” I needed to get up and run far, far away before this could get any worse.

Rusty almost choked on a laugh. I wished he would have. “Calm down, I’m just giving you a hard time.”

I tried to be relieved. “So . . . I didn’t, then . . . do those things?” Actually, those things might’ve been better than having kissed him.

Rusty smiled and took another bite, taking a long moment to chew and swallow before answering. “No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“Okay, good.” I pulled my plate back toward me and picked up my fork like I might actually eat. “So . . .” I took a deep breath, braced myself for the worst. “What
did
I do? Besides have Wade Bowen autograph my chest?” Rusty’s eyes went to the black smudge that peeked out of my tank top, and he smirked. Again. At me.

God, this was getting old. I was gonna have to suck it up and ask. Just get it over with, pride be damned. I rested the fork on my plate and leveled my tired eyes as best I could at Rusty, hating the question that was on the tip of my tongue. Then I stalled. “I need to ask you something.”

Rusty sat forward and folded his hands on the table. “Ask away.” He grinned.

I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Okay. Um . . . did we kiss last night? Because if we did—if I kissed you . . . that was a big, tequila-filled mistake. Huge.” I spread my hands wide in the air to show just how big. “Because I don’t even think of you . . . it’s just wrong, and I didn’t mean it. I mean, if I did. Kiss you. Which I don’t remember.” I stabbed a potato and shoved it in my mouth to shut myself up and chewed it with plenty of humility.

Rusty looked at me like the question surprised him, then like he was entertained by the prospect, and I saw a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe I hadn’t. Maybe we’d just danced and I never tried. But now he knew I’d thought about it, or else why would I ask?
Damn it.
My head throbbed again.

He slowly put his feet up, one at a time, on the empty seat between us, then laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, getting good and comfortable.