Nate (A Texas Jacks Novel) (4 page)

I
T’S 7 PM, AND
I
’M TRYING
to decide what to wear—but I have no idea what to throw together. A denim skirt, paired with a blouse and my cowgirl boots? Or my butt hugging jeans, cowboy belt buckle, boots, and a cute t-shirt? I don’t have the slightest clue. And where are my partners-in-crime? Why didn’t we agree to all get ready at one place? They know how fashion-challenged I am. Okay, maybe not completely. But still, I need someone’s opinion as I tear apart my wardrobe. And what about my hair — up or down? I’ll never understand why it’s so hard for a girl to get ready, yet guys can be out the door in ten minutes flat.

It’s getting late and I know my girls will be here soon, so I need to get with the program. I decide to put on my knee-length denim skirt, the one without the back pockets. I grab my favorite black, short-sleeved blouse that ties at the top and gathers around the scooped neckline and the arms, then ribs around the waist. It has pink flowers and small pink diamonds in between that go down the front on both sides. I slip it over my head. Then I pull on some black socks, followed by my black boots. I carefully flat iron my shoulder-length chocolate-brown hair, spritz on some Beautiful perfume and put in my gold hoop earrings. I apply some light makeup next, and check my purse for the necessities I’ll need for a night out. I pull out my ID and money, slipping them into the front pocket of my skirt.

I hear a knock at my front door, and I know that it’s Halley and Naomi. They have a key, but knock out of courtesy so they don't scare me to death.

I walk to the door anyway and let them in, asking, “So, how do I look?” They both look me over while giving me appreciative smiles, winks, and Halley even whistles.

I'm pretty sure my cheeks are a bit pink from their antics, and they crack up when they notice how embarrassed I am.

I have to admit that they’re both looking good in their painted-on jeans, buckles, and boots, each paired with her own cute blouse. Although, they’re the smart ones, as they put their hair up. I’ve been out with them before, and it does get hot and sweaty in the bar, especially while out on the dance floor.
Hmm
. I’m rethinking the hair option as I head towards the bathroom.

However, Naomi clotheslines me at the hall entrance with a straight-armed maneuver and starts hustling us towards the front door instead, ordering, “Get a move on, ladies! I don’t want to miss my favorite dances.”
Looks like my hair will be staying down tonight.

Halley decides to drive, so we all climb in to her black Chevy truck. As I get close to the back of her truck, I notice a new sticker on her rear window and read aloud, “
Q: What is the difference between a Ford and a porcupine? A: Porcupines have pricks on the outside
,” which causes all three of us to bust up laughing. This puts us in a whacky mood as we pull out of the parking lot and head out to the highway, toward
Texas Jacks
.

There’s not much to do in Vacaville on a Friday night, so you’ll most likely find us at
Texas Jacks
shooting pool, grabbing a few drinks, and watching the local girls dance. The bar and dance club is a popular place to be. It draws crowds in from the surrounding towns and cities, as far out as Sacramento. They also play a great mix of music. There’s a little something for everyone there, even the folks who are not so ‘country.’

Texas Jacks
is where the guys and I go to unwind from a long week of work. If we aren’t there, we’re probably fishing, camping, racing our dirt bikes, or sitting around the house relaxing and shooting the breeze. And okay, I admit it—you might even catch us playing video games from time to time. However, you’ll more than likely find us at the dirt track, if not here.

Tonight, Tucker, Holt, and I have managed to grab a table upstairs, where we settle in with our drinks and check out the girls on the dance floor. Once we get the lay of the land, we’ll probably go shoot a few rounds of pool, and maybe take a turn or two on the dance floor with some local girls.

I sit back and relax while taking in the crowd, seeing what the night has in store for us. I spot a few regulars hanging around on the first level, and some on the dance floor. I like that about this place—you can come in here and see a lot of the same faces, in a sea of nameless others. The out-of-towners seem to flock here to tie one on or for a hook-up, while the locals come to play pool, unwind on the dance floor, and meet up with old friends. As I look out over the second level railing, I see a few girls I’ve known since high school out on the dance floor, kicking it up and having a good time.

Even though I like to come here to have fun, I never troll the bar for women just for a ‘good time.’
That’s not my style
. I’ve dated a few women in my life, but I’m not a serial dater. I like to think that I’m a bit picky in this department, so while I may be known to dance with the girls who are brave enough to ask, I don’t give out my number, or ask for theirs in return. If I see the same girl again on another night, I won’t hesitate to dance with her or strike up a conversation. But that’s all it will be, because I leave it all here at
Texas Jacks
when I go home at the end of the night. Maybe one day, if the right woman came along to ruffle my feathers, I wouldn’t hesitate to stake my claim. But I haven’t met her yet.

I kick Tucker in the foot. “Hey Tuck, you up to hitting the track tomorrow for a race?”

We may like doing a lot of other things, but dirt bike racing is the singular thing that I
love
. I almost feel like a junkie at times, as I can’t get enough of the high I feel from it. It’s a blast, and it helps to clear my mind, taking away whatever is bothering me. When I’m out on the track, I don’t have to think of the sorrows or problems that bounce around in my head at any given time. I can go out there and be free to soar, to let go to my heart’s content. I only have to worry about the next sharp turn, the speed of my bike making my body hum, or the next jump that sends butterflies crashing around in my stomach. Just thinking about it makes me want to go out there now. Too bad it’s so late in the evening — otherwise, I would ditch this place and head out there right now.

I already know that Tucker is going to take me up on going to the track tomorrow. After catching sight of Lisa the last time we were there, he bailed on me. I don’t blame him, but he still owes me a race, and I’m not likely soon to forget it. I live for these races, so any time I can get out there, I’m all over it.

Tucker looks at me with a smirk on his face. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m no pansy. Of course I’ll be at the track tomorrow. I’ll be out there at the finish line, waiting for the twenty bucks you’ll owe me when I leave your sorry butt behind, choking on the dust I kick up.”

Holt laughs at him, and then gives him a high-five for his predictably cocky comment.

“Fine, we’ll see who’s eating dirt and coughing up money when it’s all said and done. Just make sure you stick around this time and leave your, ‘I have to mow my mom’s yard’ excuse at the starting line.” I say, laughing at him. He’s a good guy, and will do anything to help out his single mom. He knows I’m just joking. Still, it’s fun and just too easy to mess with Tucker.

Holt looks up when Sarah, a redheaded beauty, saunters up to our table. “Hey boys,” she says, giving Holt a sly smile. She’s a local we see from time to time out here, and she loves two-stepping with him. I’m pretty sure she would probably like to do more than just dance. However, Holt’s not interested in her in that way. She’s a great person; he’s just not looking at the moment.

“Holt, you ready to hit the dance floor yet? I asked DJ Jeff to put on a two-step number next, if you’re up for it,” she murmurs as she slips one of her arms around his shoulders.

Holt slips his arm around her waist, “Sure thing, honey. Let’s show these amateurs how it’s really done. Lead the way.”

And off they go, leaving Tucker and I to talk about the track and when to meet up tomorrow.

We arrive at
Texas Jacks
around 8:20, and judging by the full parking lot, the place is busy tonight. We end up parking further away than we had hoped, so it looks like the front door bouncer, Dave, will be walking us out tonight. We make our way past the long line towards the front. We don’t have to stand in line with the rest of the crowd, since Naomi is good friends with Dave. After we hand over our money, he stamps our hands and in we go.

The music pumping out of the speakers is pretty loud, which makes it hard to talk. I spot an empty table on the lower level by the dance floor. I tug on Halley’s shirt and point to the spot, and then head that way.

Halley and Naomi make a beeline to the bar, while I go to the table and get situated. I take in my surroundings after settling into my seat, getting a feel for what’s going on and checking out the crowd. I recognize a few of the regulars as they wave to me, and I smile back politely.

The bar is busy, too, as I see Naomi give up and head out to the dance floor. Looking over my shoulder, I catch Halley still waiting to be served. I don’t think she minds, though; she’s already found a hot-looking guy to chat with. I turn my head back in time to see a couple of other girls we know come over and sit down. We make polite small talk, and they start talking about some cowboys they’ve been eyeing for about a half hour now.