Collide (3 page)

“Tequila?” she said pointedly, settling
herself onto the stool, her wet heels dripping melting snow onto
the floor beneath her.

For a moment there was absolute silence in
the bar, even the waitress who stood a few inches from Shane held
her breath.

“Actually, make that two shots and don’t
forget the lemon.”

Danny cleared his throat, scratched his head
and took a step back as he glanced down to the end of the bar, at
the old guy who was staring open-mouthed at Bobbi. He then turned
and grabbed the bottle of tequila from behind him and poured out
two shots, scooping a couple lemons from beneath the bar. He set
them in front of Bobbi and waited.

“Salt?” she said pointedly, slipping her feet
out of her heels so that they fell onto the floor. Shane’s eyes
grazed the delicate ankles, and the fire-engine red toenails.

Suddenly aware that she was the focus of
every eye in the bar, Bobbi turned to the side and spoke loud
enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not an exhibit at the zoo so I’d
appreciate it if you’d paste your eyes somewhere else.”

She grabbed the first shot, salted the back
of her hand, and tossed it back. As soon as she shoved the lemon
into her mouth,
Sweet Home Alabama
, shot out of the speakers
overhead and she whooped, head bobbing as she grabbed the remaining
shot and repeated the whole thing over again.

Conversation started up immediately and
though most eyes still strayed her way, the bar returned to
somewhat of a normal state.

The waitress cleared her throat and turned
back to Shane. “Well that’s not something you see every day.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

She sighed. “Look, I’ll be straight with you.
You’re hot. I like ‘em tattooed and dark and dangerous.”

Shane had to give her props for being so
direct.

“I saw you looking and I’m not going to lie.
I’m married but my husband is out of town and he doesn’t really
care what I do when he’s not around.” She winked. “Hell, sometimes
he joins in when he is home…so are you interested or not?”

Shane’s gaze moved from the waitress back to
Bobbi, who was reaching for a tumbler of whiskey. Bad news. Unless
her constitution had changed the girl was in for a rough evening
and an even rougher morning. What the hell was she doing here? Why
wasn’t she at her fancy wedding reception with Dooley and the rest
of New Waterford?

Why did he care? He and Bobbi were over—way
over.

He didn’t give a flying fuck as to the why of
it, but when she tossed back that glass of whiskey as if it was a
cup of apple juice, he thought that just maybe his evening had
moved from boring as hell, to plain old interesting. He didn’t want
to analyze the spark of
something
that hit him in the gut.
He was just gonna go with it.

The waitress snorted and earned another look
from him. “That over there is some fancy lady who’s either a
runaway bride or she’s on drugs.” She shrugged. “Probably both.
Either way, you’d have to give your head a shake if you’re thinking
about getting involved with someone like that.”

He didn’t like her tone, but then again, he
supposed she was probably right. Still he had to ask. “Like what
exactly?”

The redhead shrugged. “She’s obviously
bat-shit crazy. Who the hell would come to this dump on Valentine’s
Day in a wedding dress?”

Shane couldn’t disagree because the waitress
was on the right track. Except that he knew someone who would do
something that crazy—or he used to know a someone.

Bobbi reached for another glass of whiskey
and this time, ordered a double.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better he’d think
this was five years ago and none of the crap that had happened in
between mattered. Except the woman in white had broken him and he
was pretty damn sure he’d done the same to her. They had always
been like oil and water, better off not mixing. Better off not
involved.

“Honey.” The waitress leaned over the table
and he frowned, pissed that she’d blocked his view of Bobbi. “Are
you coming home with me? I promise we’ll have a good time.” Her
breasts were nearly falling out of the low cut T-shirt she wore and
with her arms pulled in tight to her sides, she was trying her
damnedest to push them all the way out.

Shane’s cell phone vibrated for the tenth
time since he’d been here and he reached into his jeans, eyes not
leaving the back of Bobbi’s head as he retrieved it. With one
glance down he saw that there were several text messages from
Billie Jo Barker, though it was the last one that grabbed his
attention.

Bobbi’s disappeared. She never showed for
her wedding. If u hear from her let me know
.

“Hello,” the waitress said sarcastically.

Shane shot her a dark look that said,
hold
on
. He quickly typed a response—
I know where she is, don’t
worry
—and turned off the alerts so he wouldn’t have to answer
the hundred and one responses he was sure would come. He tossed his
cell phone onto the table, his eyes drawn to Bobbi as he settled
back into the dark corner. He should leave. He should just get as
far away from this bar and that woman as he could.

But then Shane Gallagher and common sense
weren’t always real tight. In fact they hadn’t been buddies in a
long, long time. He propped up his booted foot on the bench across
from him, decision made.

“Before you go, I’ll take another beer.”

The second whiskey had tasted better than the
first and subsequently, the third was so much better than the
second.

Bobbi twirled her finger in the cold, wet
liquid, pushing the ice cubes against the glass and watching them
tumble around in a sea of amber. She stuck her finger in her mouth,
slowly sucking the drops of booze off the end, very much aware that
the old man at the end of the bar watched her, a look of
disapproval on his face.

Which was the total opposite of the table
full of rednecks just to her left. Each and every one of them
watched the display as if they were picturing her mouth licking
something else entirely.

Gerald would be disgusted. If he was here
right now, his face would get that pinched look—the kind that said
his boxers were on too tight—and he’d look down his nose at her.
His eyebrows would thread together as he frowned, and he would no
doubt try and lecture her on the etiquette of public displays that
weren’t exactly lady-like.

Of course, Bobbi had never been on the
receiving end of one of those looks. Nope. She was—or had been—the
perfect girlfriend/fiancé. But she’d witnessed his self-righteous
derision first hand, when dealing with her sister Betty.

No, Gerald Dooley would definitely not
approve of a woman chugging whiskey like it was going out of style
and he certainly wouldn’t appreciate his fiancé—she made a
face—
former fiancé
sitting in a crappy bar, wearing a
wedding dress that cost a small fortune, with his mother’s fake fur
stole along for the ride.

She tossed the fur wrap onto the bar and
grinned, feeling either crazy or happy, she didn’t know which. What
she did know, was that the pressure on her chest was gone and she
could finally breathe again. She pushed her hair out of her face
and then took another long drink. The whiskey burned on its way
down, but her tongue was pretty much numb to it after two shots of
tequila and two stiff drinks.

Danny paused in front of her, a rag in his
beefy hand. She glanced up. “Shit, you lost a crap ton of hair, my
friend.”

His eyebrows rose so high it was comical and
Bobbi studied him carefully, suddenly feeling talkative. And free.
And talkative.

“You know, if you shaved that tuff of
feathers off the top, hit the gym and lost that gut, you’d make a
hell-of-a lot more in tips.”

His face flushed red, the jowly cheeks puffed
up so much that he looked like he was gonna blow. “Who do you think
you are girlie?” he rasped. “Coming into my bar, wearing,” he
nodded, “that getup and acting like you’re the fucking Queen of
England?”

“Danny,” she began slowly, because all of a
sudden her tongue felt thick and she had to concentrate hard in
order not to slur her words. She couldn’t be drunk already…could
she? Had she become that much of a lightweight?

“First off,” she said slowly, “the swearing
is another reason you won’t make huge tips and secondly, don’t you
know who I am?”

He shook his head and crossed his arms over
her chest, his thick bushy eyebrows knitted tight as he frowned at
her. “Nope, never seen you before.”

She tipped her glass back and finished it,
slamming it down and indicating she wanted another. “Hmm, it’s been
a while.” She watched him as he slowly filled her glass again, “I
didn’t think I changed that much.”

“Hmph,” was all she got in reply.

“I’m just saying you used to have a lot more
hair.”

At his dark look she leaned forward. “The
good news is that bald guys are in. Hell, Captain Picard from Star
Trek? Hot guy. Oh,” her grin widened, “Georges St. Pierre? You know
the UFC guy? Totally freaking hot.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer.
Bobbi knew she should just probably keep her mouth shut. Obviously
Danny didn’t give a rat’s ass what she thought, but for some reason
her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. Just like the old
days. The ones she’d tried so hard to forget.

She looked up pointedly, her expression
intense. “And honestly, you should feel pretty damn good because
you’ve got a really, really nice shaped head.”

His frown deepened as one of his hands crept
up top, apparently to smooth some of that fuzz he had going on, but
she saw the slight caress—the way he cupped his head and she
smiled. “According to my Auntie Lacey that means your mama turned
you every night when you were in the crib so if you want to thank
someone for a head as round as a basketball, you should thank your
mom.”

His eyes widened even more.

“Lady, are you for real?”

Christ, but he didn’t get it. She was
complimenting him, or at the very least, trying to. “Danny, it’s
me. Bobbi Jo. I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em.”

Danny took a step back, shaking his head as
his eyes traveled from the top of her glossy head, down her face
and back up again.

“Bobbi Jo Barker?” he said gruffly. Danny’s
eyes narrowed and he rubbed the stubble that graced his chin as his
eyes shifted and moved behind her.

Bobbi turned her head but all she could see
were a bunch of booths, none of them occupied, save for the one on
the end, but it was too dark to see who sat there. She saw faded
denim, large Doc’s and a red headed waitress with attitude.

“One and the same,” she answered turning
back. She finished her whiskey and nodded for another.

“I think you need to take a break.”

She glanced up at Danny. “Am I causing
trouble?”

“Not yet you aren’t but now that I know
exactly who you are I’m figuring trouble is on the way if it’s not
here already.”

“Christ Danny, since when do you speak in
riddles? And you don’t have to worry. I’ve changed. Trouble is no
longer my middle name,” she grinned, or at least she attempted too,
but with her fuzzy mouth she wasn’t sure she was successful. “Heck,
you didn’t even know it was me.”

For a moment her mind wandered and she
thought of the church she had left behind. A church filled to the
brim with her family and friends. With Gerald’s family as well,
including his dried up witch of a mother. But still, had they
deserved what she’d just put them through? If she had truly changed
would she have done something like that?

Runaway bride, that’s what I am
.

“I promise to behave,” she said carefully,
pushing her glass toward Danny. She needed to forget how the
threads of her life had become so damn tangled. She needed to not
feel how hollow and empty she was inside. She needed to be some
place else and right now, the only some place else she wanted to be
was right smack dab in the middle of Drunksville, USA.

Danny frowned, but filled the glass, though
he leaned close and said gruffly. “That’s it at least for the next
half an hour and I’m going to bring you some greasy fries to soak
it up. Understand?”

She nodded like a good girl and leaned her
elbows on top of the bar, staring down at the glass for a few
moments before taking a sip. This time she let the whiskey settle
on her tongue a bit before swallowing. She needed to savor the
sensation. The sensation of falling into oblivion.

Her eyes drifted upward and she spied a large
red heart dangling from the stiff end of a fake—or not—large fish.
A bass maybe. The paper heart was startlingly, vibrant amongst the
dull browns that invaded nearly every inch of the bar and she
stared at it so long it blurred and she glanced away, feeling a
little dizzy.

Danny pushed a plate of fries in front of her
and surprisingly enough, she was hungry. “Thanks,” she said softly
as she dug in, tossing a mean look toward one of the men from the
table a few feet away as he slid onto the stool beside her.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She swallowed a mouthful of gravy before
answering. “Yeah, I do.”

“Wow, what’s got you so cranky? Late for a
wedding?” He grinned down at her, but it quickly faded when she let
the frosty, bitchy part of her rise to the surface. It was
something she’d perfected well over the last few years.

“Not really. The wedding was nearly three
hours ago.”

“Huh,” he replied.

“Huh,” she mimicked. “Is that all you
got?”

The guy brushed his hand through a thick
cropping of curly hair and slid off the chair. He wasn’t bad
looking in an ordinary, bland, sort of way and she was sure he was
perfectly nice—for someone who hung out at The Hard Rock. But she
was done with men. Done with thinking.