Page 39 of Cockpit
ing before, I was wrong, because it almost doubles in volume. A cacophony of cheers and whistles sound off as heads turn to where Grayson must be standing.
I edge up on my tiptoes, every part of me wanting to see him.
Every part of me wanting to be seen by him.
I see a hand rise. I see Grady trying to coax him to join him on the bar. Then the chants of “speech” begin.
With Grayson’s affinity for downplaying his hero status, I guarantee he wants to kill me about now.
It’s so very silly that, as I see a hand clasp on to Grayson’s and help to pull him up onto the bar, I suck in my breath.
He’s breathtaking. It’s sad that’s my first thought when he comes into view. He has on a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, and his hair is styled in a messy disarray, which is similar to his brother’s. His cheeks are flushed pink, and that only adds to his appeal. Clearly, he is not a fan of this attention.
He smiles as he shakes his head at the ruckus. “This really is ridiculous.” He looks around, and somehow his eyes lock on to mine. They hold, and then that grin stalls momentarily before widening as he shakes his head. “I’m far from a hero. I just did what any of you would have done, but it seems someone in particular wants to make a big show of this. And that one person, I’d love to thank for all of this unwanted attention.” He points in my direction. “Ms. Sidney Thorton, ladies and gents.”
The people turn their attention my way, and a roar goes through the room as I quietly curse him and wish I could blend in with the wall at my back. “If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have this chance to all get together, drink a few beers, and have a good time—so, do me a favor,” he says as his mischievous smile grows wider and his eyes spark with trouble, “make sure you give her a hug tonight and welcome her back to Sunnyville. Or a shot will do. That’s the least you can do to help me thank her.”
The smug bastard.
It’s the only thought I can process before hands start patting me on the back as people close in around me. Nice people. Kind people. Oblivious people who have no idea just how unnerving it is for me to have them all be so close.
I lose sight of Grayson, but he isn’t far from my mind as I curse him at length under my breath for his shitty little retaliation.
His underhanded way of telling me I’m a snob. That I think I’m too good to shake hands with—or give hugs to—the blue-collared people who make up this town.
I look for Rissa, hoping she’ll save me. She’s standing just outside the circle of people who look partially familiar, taking a sip of her margarita on the rocks as if she’s a regular here when she isn’t.
Damn, she’s good.
“Well, shit, look at that. Uptown Sidney is settling in just fine with us little people.”
My immediate response is to defend her. To tell Grant to lay off her and protect her as if she were a friend.
What the fuck’s my problem? I’m in this damn predicament because of her and her influence and I’m going to help her?
Not a chance in hell.
I look to where she’s standing, her back against the wall, a drink in her hand. Her heels are high, her skirt is fitted, and goddamn those legs of hers call my eyes every chance they get. The curve of her calves and the hint of her cleavage in the V of her shirt are both subtle but so in my face it’s as if she’s calling to me. My phone has been turned off, battery removed, number disconnected.
And, yet, it still rings.
“That’s Sidney Thorton?” Grady chimes in, following the question with a low whistle.
“Yep.” I tip the bottle of beer to my lips without looking back at her.
“Well, damn. She’s all grown up,” Grady says it with a swear. Maybe I should remind him of his wife, who would likely have some creative payback for him checking out someone else.
Not that I can blame him. I’ve been looking her way a lot more than I want to admit. Especially with Grant’s words from the other day rattling around in my mind. The “she’s nothing like Claire,” and the “even if I participate, I’m the one who has something to gain, not her.”
I still don’t buy it.
She’s standing there just like everyone else, and yet, there is this air about her that sets her apart. The way she holds her head high, her back straight, her eyes sharp with a distrust that makes no sense. Then someone comes up to give her a hug, and I laugh, knowing how much she probably wants to fucking kill me.
Turnabout’s fair play, sweetheart.
I expect her to frown, to be rude and refuse the greeting, but then she smiles. She smiles, and fuck if I can’t take my eyes off her as her expression turns genuine, her laugh rings out, and the people around her hang on her every word. It’s hard to despise someone when, with each look, with each drink, you want to walk across the room and go talk to them.
An elbow hits my arm and jerks my attention from her. “You’re turning her down, why?” Grady asks as he looks over to his wife and shakes his head before looking back at me.
