Change Rein - Anne Jolin Page 0,13

I shift the weight between my boots in response. The room feels hotter than a goddamn two-dollar pistol. I can feel my heart beating inside my head.

She scrunches her nose up at the screen in front of her, desperately trying to focus. After missing the first few bars, she catches up and starts to sing. “I’m goin’ out tonight. I’m feelin’ all right. Gonna let it all hang out.”

Everyone, country music lovers or not, knows this goddamn song, but in this second, I can’t remember a single lyric to Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like A Woman.”

“Wanna make some noise, really raise my voice. Yeah, I wanna scream and shouuuuuuut.” She hollers along with the music, and Lord have mercy if she isn’t absolutely bloody awful. I don’t think the girl could carry a tune in a bucket, but she’s cute as hell.

She shuffles a little from side to side. Her long legs are encased in nearly knee-high, beat-up, red Durango cowboy boots.

Hell if I don’t want to marry her right on the damn spot.

Call me a stalker, or crown me the King of Creeps, but I had to meet her the moment I saw her on my television screen. And when I read that article, I could feel her personality through that ass clown’s unjust representation. Regardless, that’s the second I knew she would be mine.

My mother called those kinds of feelings fate, and right now, in this crowded, old bar on a Sunday night, listening to the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on butcher a classic country song, I am inclined to believe her.

“Did they drive here?” I raise my voice so Reed can hear me behind the bar. “Those girls?” I nod towards the stage.

“Hell no. Their daddy would tan their hide if they drove to the bar.” She laughs to herself like it’s something I should have known already.

“How’d they get here, then?” I know I sound nosy, but I’m two drinks and one right mind shy of caring.

Leaning onto the counter, she scans the crowd for a minute before pointing to a table off to the left of the stage. “See that cowboy?”

I nod, my gaze landing on a guy in a brown Stetson and plaid.

“That’s their ride.”

The temperature under my skin spikes and my hands curl into fists. I go to push off from the bar, but Reed’s tiny hands wrap around my forearm and pull me back.

“There ain’t no brawlin’ in my bar, no matter who you are.” She narrows her eyes at me.

“I wasn’t . . .”

Laughing, she cocks an eyebrow in my direction and subsequently drops my arm. “I spend seven nights a week servin’ drunks, and I’ve seen that look a million times before. Don’t go gettin’ bloody knuckles just yet. That’s their brother.”

“Oh.”

“Mm-hm, oh.” She shakes her head.

Every emotion coiling through my system spins completely out of control, and despite not wanting to take this moment back, I don’t want to meet her this way. Not when she won’t remember me.

No, I’ve waited nearly three weeks already. I can wait one more night.

After grabbing a business card from my wallet, I slide it across the bar. “If she looks like she’s gettin’ in anything but her brother’s truck at the end of the night, you best call me.”

Pushing off the bar, I take one last look at her on the stage.

London Daniels.

Not for long, little lady.

I am going to make her my wife someday.

I know it. ’Bout time she does too.

“LONDON!”

Shhh.

“London!”

Go away.

“I’ll get the hose if you keep pretending not to hear me.”

I squint one eye open and find my brother standing over me with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’ll kill you,” I groan, pulling the blankets up over my head. “Go away.”

I’m about to claim victory, but it’s short-lived. The blanket is yanked off me.

“No can do,” he says. “The horses will be arriving soon. Rise and shine, American Idol.”

Karaoke.

Shania Twain.

“Oh, God.”

Did that really happen?

“Oh yeah, it happened,” Owen answers on behalf of my sluggish brain.

Looking down, I realize I’m still in my clothes from last night, boots and all. “Shit.”

“That’s exactly what you look like.” He chuckles, and I throw my pillow at his head. “I’m not surprised though. After you upchucked out my truck window, you spent the rest of the night praying to the porcelain throne.”

After sitting up, I pause at the edge of my bed and wait for the spinning to stop. I haven’t drank for what has to be at