Beautiful Sacrifice

  "What?" he asked, taking them from my fingers.

  "Your driver's license picture is atrocious. You look as bad as a hatful of assholes."

  Taylor laughed. "Whatever. I'm a fucking ace."

  I clicked my tongue. "Whoever told you that needs to get out more."

  His eyebrows pulled together, and he tucked his chin. "You're either a liar or a lesbian. Which is it?"

  Taylor was my way to Eakins. Quelling the urge to scream, laugh, cry, or jump up and down felt like holding on to a wild animal covered in grease.

  I cleared my throat. "I need to lock up."

  "Okay. I'll wait for you outside."

  I had to play it just right. Taylor was only chasing me because I was running. I couldn't appear too eager.

  I sighed. "You're not just going to go away, are you?"

  One corner of his mouth curled up, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.

  Taylor was unquestionably attractive. The butterflies I felt in my stomach when he looked at me were undeniable, and I wanted to hate the way I felt, even more than I wanted to hate men. His delicious full lips, a needless decoration for his already perfect features, only added to how ridiculously good-looking he was. The symmetry of his face was flawless. His chin and jaw had just the right amount of stubble--not clean-shaven and not yet the beginning of a beard. His warm chocolate eyes were intermittently hidden behind a thick line of lashes. Taylor had all the makings of an underwear model, and he knew it.

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You like watching me assess your looks to decide if I'm going to let that overshadow the fact that you're a cunt rag."

  "I'm not that bad," he said, trying to suppress the odd amusement the words brought him.

  "What is the name of the last girl you slept with? Just the first name."

  He mulled over my question, and then his shoulders sagged. "Okay, I'm kind of a cunt rag."

  I glanced down at his arms. They were both covered in neo-traditionalist tattoos. Bright colors and thick black lines displayed an eight ball, a fanned-out hand of aces and eights, a dragon, a skull, and a woman's name.

  "I'll go away, but I don't want to." He glanced up at me from under his brow, turning his charm on full throttle.

  Any other girl might have melted, but all I could think about was how hard fate had just slapped me in the face.

  "Who's Diane?" I asked.

  He looked down at his feet. "Why do you ask?"

  I nodded toward his arm. "Is she an ex-girlfriend? Are you a scorned man, sleeping your way through debilitating heartbreak?"

  "Diane is my mother."

  My mouth immediately felt dry, my throat like I'd swallowed hot sand. I blinked. "Shit."

  "I prefer shit to sorry."

  "I don't apologize ... anymore."

  He grinned. "I believe that. Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a little overprotective when it comes to men getting aggressive with women. I can't promise you that it won't happen again, but I can promise that it won't happen tonight. So"--he looked at me from under his lashes, exuding the full force of his magnetic charm--"let's go."

  I pressed my lips together. Now that I needed him, the game had become particularly risky. I had to be stubborn but not impossible. "Nope."

  His face fell, and he walked away, but then he came back, frustrated and flustered. "Goddamn, lady, quit busting my balls!"

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want me to go out with you so badly? Did you make a bet or something?"

  "Because you keep telling me no!"

  I offered a half smile. "So, if I go, you'll leave me alone?"

  "Why would I ask you out again? You think I enjoy getting shot down?"

  "You must."

  "It just ... doesn't happen ... to me." The thought simmered. He was clearly unhappy.

  "Now, I really want to tell you to kick rocks."

  "Lady," he said, struggling to rein in his temper, "just have a couple of drinks with me. I won't even walk you home. I swear."

  "Fine." I reached behind me, pulling my apron tie loose with one tug. I wrapped the strings around my tips and then put it behind the counter. "Let's go enjoy our last night together."

  He held out his hand. "It's about fucking time."

  I let my hand fit snugly inside of his as he led me through the front door. His skin on mine made me feel warm all over, soaking into my pores, thawing a part of me that had been cold for a long time.

  A quick glance over my shoulder, I could see Phaedra and Chuck waving good-bye with matching devilish grins on their faces.

  Taylor pulled me across the street, not even mentioning my thrift-store jeans or the fact that I smelled like the Bucksaw. I stepped up onto the curb and continued half a block to a growing line in front of Cowboys, the country-western bar.

  "Really?" I complained.

  Taylor gestured to a guy at the entrance and then pulled me past the more appropriately dressed women who weren't lucky enough to know the bouncer.

  "Hey!"

  "No fair!"

  "That's bullshit, Darren!"

  I tugged on Taylor's hand, forcing him to stop.

  "Darren Michaels," I said to my former high school classmate.

  "Falyn Fairchild," Darren said. His body nearly filled the entire doorframe, his too-small black shirt stretched over the muscles hiding under his tanning bed-browned skin.

  "I didn't know you worked here."

  Darren chuckled. "Since I turned twenty-one, Falyn. You really should leave the Bucksaw once in a while."

  "Very funny," I said as Taylor pulled me past Darren into the bar.

  We passed the windows where women were taking money for the cover charge. One of the women behind the counter saw us but didn't even attempt to get Taylor's attention, instead looking to the next people in line.

  "Are you using your frequent-flier miles?" I asked loud enough for him to hear me over the music.

  Taylor smiled, and I pushed down the ridiculous fluttering in my chest.

  "Want a beer?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Oh, don't tell me you're a wine-cooler girl." When I didn't answer, he continued, "Cocktail? Whiskey? I give up."

  "I don't drink."

  "You don't ... huh?"

  His confused expression made me grin.

  "I don't drink," I said, enunciating each word.

  "I don't understand."

  I rolled my eyes.

  "I drink," he said. "I also smoke. But that's one thing they won't let me do in here."

  "Disgusting. I'm even less attracted to you than before."

  Taylor was unfazed, leading me to a tall table. He waited until I climbed onto a stool.

  "I'm going to grab a beer," he said. "You sure you don't want anything? Water? Soda?"

  "I'll take a water. What are you smiling about?"

  "You just said you were attracted to me." His self-satisfied smile was contagious.

  "Yeah, but that was before you spoke."

  Taylor's smile immediately vanished. "You're so fucking mean. It's disturbing that I like it so much."

  He approached the bar, my insults not affecting his arrogant swagger in the least. Music heavy in steel guitar and twang filled the entire space of the two-story dance hall. I let my chin rest on the heel of my hand as I picked out the people I knew from the tourists. Then I observed Taylor chatting up Shea, who had graduated a couple of years after I had and had been tending bar at Cowboys since the day after her twenty-first birthday. I waited for Taylor to flirt with her or do something else that would help solidify my initial opinion that he was a total slimebag.

  Shea cocked her head and looked completely smitten, but then they both turned to me. There was no point in looking away. I had already been caught.

  I waved, and they waved back.

  Shea popped the cap off of Taylor's beer, and then she filled a plastic cup with ice and water. She patted his shoulder just before he carried the drinks toward me.

  "Shea,
" he said.

  "I know her."

  "You asked me for the name of the last girl I bagged. It was Shea."

  I made a face.

  "It was my first weekend here. She's a sweetheart ... and wild as hell."

  "Bagged her? What does that even mean?" I asked, already wishing I hadn't.

  "Intimate relations. Intercourse. Coitus. Doing the deed. Nookie. Fornicating. Laying pipe. Screwing. Sex. Tapping that ass. Fucking. Need I go on?"

  "Please don't." I sipped my water.

  "I'm a vagrant, as your dad put it." He lifted his bottle and took a swig. "There is little else for us to do between calls."

  "Only if you have no imagination."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "Oh, I don't know. August is a good time to summit Pikes Peak. The Garden of the Gods. Manitou Springs. The zoo. The Fine Arts Center. Seven Falls. The Air and Space Museum."

  "Okay. Let's knock those out. How about this weekend? We'll start with Pikes Peak. That sounds fun."

  "This is our last night together, remember?"

  "Not at all," he said.

  I rolled my eyes and then tried to find something interesting on the dance floor. There were several sights to choose from. I saw a father-and-daughter couple ... at least that was what I'd thought until he tried to give her vertical mouth-to-mouth. A man was attempting to get rejected by every female standing within three feet of the dance floor. A woman in head-to-toe black fringe was two-stepping backward by herself--and quite possibly starring in a Broadway musical playing in her own head.

  Taylor pointed at her with the mouth of his bottle. "We call her Cat Woman. She's just getting warmed up."

  "Who's we?" I asked.

  "Me ... and them," he said, pointing to the two men walking toward us.

  Zeke and Dalton were shaking their heads in disbelief.

  "Un-fucking-believable," Zeke said. "I'm disappointed in you, Falyn."

  Both men reached into their pockets, and each one handed Taylor a twenty-dollar bill.

  I looked to Taylor. "I was wrong. You're worse than a cunt rag."

  Zeke looked to Taylor, genuinely concerned. "What's worse than that?"

  Taylor held up his hands, palms out, in surrender even though he was clearly still amused. "Just because I bet them I could get you here doesn't mean I didn't want you to come with me. Besides, I can't pass up a lock bet."

  I shook my head, confused.

  "Oh!" Taylor said, even more animated since his friends had arrived. "Can someone write this down? Ivy League does not understand my vernacular!"

  "You mean, your verbiage," I deadpanned.

  Dalton's mouth curved up into a half smile.

  Taylor leaned in toward me. He smelled like cologne and cheap body wash with a hint of mint and sweet tobacco on his breath. "A lock bet is pretty much a sure thing." His voice was low and smooth.

  "Yep," I said, "that's my cue." I stood up and headed for the door.

  Dalton and Zeke made a fuss, yelling, "Oh!" at the same time.

  Within seconds, Taylor's fingers gently encompassed mine, slowing my progress to a stop.

  "You're right. That was a very douche-like thing for me to say."

  I spun around, crossing my arms. "I can't really blame a dick for making a dick move."

  Taylor's jaw flitted under his skin. "I deserved that. I was just screwing with you, Falyn. You haven't made any part of this easy."

  I glared at him for a moment and then relaxed. "It's late. I have to work in the morning anyway."

  Disappointment weighed down his shoulders. "C'mon! It's not that late! And you promised me drinks--plural."

  "Do waters count?"

  "Let's dance."

  "No!" I said so loud and shrill that I surprised even myself.

  Taylor was a bit stunned as well. "Whoa. Calm yourself. It's just dancing. I won't even grab your ass."

  I shook my head and took a step back.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "I don't know how to dance ... like that," I said, pointing to the couples twisting and spinning on the dance floor.

  He laughed once. "Two-stepping?"

  "Precisely."

  "Can you count?"

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "That's insulting."

  "Just answer the ques--"

  "Yes! Yes, I can count," I said, exasperated.

  "Then you can two-step. C'mon, I'll teach you." He walked toward the dance floor, tugging me by the hand.

  Despite my repeated refusals that turned into fervent begging, he pulled me onto the wooden rectangle in the center of the building.

  I stood, frozen.

  "Relax. I'll make you look good."

  "I don't like country music."

  "No one does. Just roll with it."

  I sighed.

  Taylor put his right hand on my hip and gripped my right hand with his left. "Put your other hand on my shoulder."

  I looked around. Some men had their hands on the shoulders of their partners. Some women were too busy spinning in circles to put their hands anywhere.

  "Oh God," I said, closing my eyes. I didn't like doing things I didn't already know I was going to excel at.

  "Falyn," Taylor said, his voice calming and smooth.

  I opened my eyes and tried not to let the dimple in his cheek distract me.

  "I'm going to take two steps backward with my left foot. You're going to step forward with your right. Two times, okay?"

  I nodded.

  "Then I'm going to step backward once with my right foot, and you'll step forward with your left foot. Just once. The count is two quick, one, two quick, one. Ready?"

  I shook my head.

  He laughed. "It's really not that bad. Just listen to the music. I'll take you around the floor."

  Taylor stepped, and I went with him. I counted in my head, trying to mirror his movements. I wasn't completely ignorant in the realm of dancing. Blaire had insisted on ballet lessons until I was thirteen, and it had become obvious that no amount of instruction could teach me how to be graceful.

  Two-stepping, however, seemed to be fairly painless, and Taylor was actually pretty good. After a few laps around the dance floor, he let go with one hand and spun me once. When I returned to the original position, I couldn't help the smile erupting across my face.

  The song ended, and I huffed. "Okay, so it wasn't awful."

  Another song began, this one a bit faster.

  "Then let's go again," he said, pulling me with him.

  Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and my back was feeling damp as well. Halfway through the song, Taylor twirled me around, but instead of bringing me back into his arms, he spun me the other way. By the end of the song, he added a turn where he let go, and my hand slid across his back, and then we ended up two-stepping again.

  After the third song, I retreated to our table.

  "You're pretty good!" Dalton said.

  "She is, isn't she?" Taylor said, his eyes bright. "Do you want another water? I'm going to grab another beer."

  "Thanks," I said, watching Taylor leave.

  "Boy, for someone who wants to hate him so much, you sure are staring at him," Dalton said.

  "Habit," I said, watching as Shea filled a cup with water.

  Taylor took his beer and my water, and he carried them back toward us before setting my cup on the table.

  "Damn, Taylor," Zeke said. "She's making sure you're not slipping something in her drink."

  Taylor looked at me. "No. Seriously?"

  "I don't know you," I said.

  "Does that happen a lot around here?" Zeke asked, a little disturbed at the thought.

  "It's happened," I said.

  Taylor gritted his teeth. "I'd better not catch anyone doing that shit. That's grounds for an ass-beating."

  "It ain't because she don't know you," Zeke said. "She just needs an excuse to watch you when you're with the hot bartender."

  "I'm not with the hot bartender," Taylor
told his friend.

  "I'd like to be with the hot bartender," Zeke said. Smiling at Shea, he took a sip of his beer.

  "She has a name," I said. When Taylor didn't seem to remember, I reminded him, "Shea."

  He tried to look sorry but failed. "I know your name."

  "I'm honored," I deadpanned.

  "Quit acting like we're strangers. I'm not going to put anything weird in your drink. I've never had to drug anyone to get laid, and I'm not going to start now."

  "I still don't know you."

  He nudged me with his elbow. "You know I'm a good dancer."

  "You're a decent dancer."

  Dalton and Zeke busted into laughter again.

  Taylor lowered his head, laughing. "Cruel. She's gone and insulted my dancing skills!"

  I took a big gulp of ice water and set it down, the cup half empty. Droplets of sweat were skipping down my back into my jeans. I dabbed my forehead with my wrist. "I really should go."

  A new song boomed through the speakers, and everyone cheered and headed toward the dance floor.

  "One more!" Taylor said, tugging on my hand.

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. "Okay, but then that's it! I've got to work in the morning."

  "Deal!" he said, leading me by the hand from the tightly woven carpet to the wooden dance floor.

  Taylor spun me before we began our counted dance. We fell in line, dancing counterclockwise like everyone around us. Couples were spinning and laughing, and if they missed a step or messed up, they only laughed harder.

  I was amazed at how quickly I had caught on, and I could even anticipate what Taylor was going to do next. That was, until the height of the song when he did something new. This time, he pushed me away from his body and crossed our arms, pulling me close to him, and then in the next moment, I was in the air, upside down, until I was back on my feet, two-stepping again.

  I was cackling like a maniac, unable to control my laughter.

  "Did you like that?"

  "I'm not even sure what happened!"

  "I flipped you."

  "Flipped me? I just did a flip? In the air?" I asked, using my index finger to make invisible little circles.

  "Yep. I've ruined you for all other first dates. Admit it."

  I missed a step as I looked down and then back up. "This isn't a date."

  "Okay, I'll buy you dinner. What's open?"

  I stopped dancing. "This isn't a date. If anything, we're friends."

  Taylor leaned in, his nose caressing the edge of my ear. "That never works out for me."

  I stepped back. The feeling coming over me was more than just a tad alarming. I waved at him and began to walk away, but he tugged on my shirt.

  Then his hands fell to his sides. "C'mon, Falyn. You weren't serious about that, were you? We were having fun."