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The crowd slows down, unused to this musical direction. A few old-timers here for a night of two-stepping take over the oak-planked dance floor. Mike just goes with it, moving Leslie back and forth to the sad song, even keeping time during the song’s interlude where Elvis “talks” to his lady love.
When the King speaks about his love lying when she said she loved him but wanting to hear those lies rather than live without her, tears that I’ve managed to hold off ever since Chase left me by the elevator with a groped boob and half-empty white mocha surface.
I know Momma said there was an Elvis song for every occasion, but this just seems heartless.
Thankfully, the song ends before I can’t hold back the tears any longer. Fanning my face like I’m hot and not about to cry, I signal the bartender for another shot. But before I can catch his eye, “Teddy Bear” starts up.
One Elvis song is unusual. Two back to back?
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Startled, I swivel on my stool.
A good-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes, flashes me a dimple. I think he was sitting next to Mike earlier. He’s just as young. “Would you like to dance?”
Trying to hide my disappointment, I shake my head. But the tears I’d been so successful at fighting back rear their ugly heads.
He looks mildly panicked. More so when the first one falls. “You okay, ma’am?”
“She just really hates being called ma’am.”
Jerking my blurred gaze to the right, I can just make out the fine-ass form of Chase Moore. I blink a few times, shedding the fully formed tears from my eyes so I can focus.
He’s wearing a tight gray Henley tucked into fitted jeans, with gorgeous calfskin Tecovas on his feet and a brown Stetson cowboy hat complete with braided band, just like Elvis wore in Charro!
Strapped to his chest in a baby carrier is Mike Hunt.
In a teddy bear costume.
30
CHASE
“He just wants to be your teddy bear.”
Bell finally lifts her eyes from an extremely disgruntled Mike and looks at me. “Are you serious right now?”
I can’t get a read on her expression. She doesn’t look happy. But she doesn’t look pissed either. “Uh, yes?” Personally, I thought Mike’s costume was a stroke of brilliance.
“I’m just gonna go…” Neither of us looks at the guy who called her ma’am as he slinks away.
“Why are you here?” Her eyes narrow in a way that makes me nervous. Mike too, if the smell emanating from the baby carrier is any indication. Turns out Mike is a nervous farter. Something he proved on the flight here from New York.
People in first class have no sense of humor, by the way.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry?” I have no idea why I couched that as a question. Mike paws at me, and I think even he knows I’ve already fucked this grand gesture/apology up.
Bell’s eyes narrow further.
Damn it. I should’ve done more research. Alice tried to give me a bunch of books for examples of swoon-worthy (her words, not mine) grand gesture examples written by someone named Audrey Cole, but I’d been too busy wanting to get here before some asshole cowboy tried to get in her pants.
Thomas may not have had any relationship advice to give, but he did tell me that Alice and Bell still talk. Then he’d muttered something about inappropriate use of work time and picture taking.
Whatever that meant.
And Alice had come through for me, telling me exactly where Bell would be. Then she mentioned that in all the romance books she’s ever read, the guy always does something big. Something to sweep the woman off her feet in a moment of love-induced insanity (again—her words, not mine).
“Has Thomas gotten Stan to sign over control yet?”
