Page 59 of Spiral
“Good.”
I can hear Todd’s truck coming before I can see it – a giant diesel monster raised about 10 feet off the ground.
Oh, lord. Just remember how hot he is, Georgia. And he likes you. Only you.
Todd lets out a low whistle as I open his passenger-side door, hoisting myself into the truck.
“Damn, Georgia. Nice rack,” he remarks casually, his amber eyes lingering on my chest.
“Oh. Um, thanks.” I shift uncomfortably in the bucket seat as he immediately presses the gas, propelling me forward as we begin the short drive to Stetson’s.
The country music is roaring as we step through the front door of the bar, the pink and red neon lighting instantly enveloping us in their warm pigment. The sounds of shuffling boots can be heard all across the worn wooden flooring as couples line dance, their steps heavy and clumsy from the alcohol.
All eyes are instantly on Todd as we head towards the bar. Sorority girls out with their friends in Daisy Dukes and crop tops, mouths agape and eyes wide as he walks past them; men in country hats and Wranglers side-eyeing Todd in envy. I shuffle behind him, attempting to keep up with his long stride, before settling myself in a chair at the tall, wooden bar.
“You want a drink?” he shouts, straining to be heard over the pumping western music.
I nod, surveying the crowd and growing self-conscious as I notice the glares from every other girl in the room.
Dressed in a pressed button up, starched Wranglers, and an ivory cowboy hat, Todd appears to tower over every person in the room. His long, dark curls flare beneath his hat in a way that’s effortlessly sexy – and he knows it.
“How do I look?” he asks, handing me a shot of dark brown liquor as he quickly downs his own.
“Great,” I reply, drumming my fingers on the bar awkwardly.
He nods, satisfied with my answer. “Wanna dance?”
The music is a catchy, early 2000’s country song that instantly reminds me of my mom. She’d play it on Saturday mornings when she was sober, sweeping the kitchen and singing along to every word in a breathy, comforting voice. Those moments were few and far between, long before I had to move in with Eleanor, and I take a deep breath as the memory flows through my mind.
Lyrics about getting revenge on the singer’s cheating boyfriend ring in my ears as they travel through the bar, making me think of not only my mom, but Henry. I watch, a lump growing in my throat, as drunken girls on the dance floor scream the words about destroying his truck and never talking to him again.
He didn’t cheat on you, Georgia. You were the one he was cheating with! Natalia did nothing wrong. God, why are you even thinking about this? You’re here with Todd!
I look up at him and realize that he’s still waiting for me to answer.
Taking his hand, I chug my shot and choke back coughs as the liquor burns my throat and lungs.
The dance floor is packed, but everyone clears a space for Todd as he saunters confidently into the center of the room. The song is quick and energetic, and he wastes no time wrapping a muscular arm around my torso and yanking me towards him, connecting our bodies. Swaying from side to side hastily as our hands intertwine, we step along the length of the dance floor to the beat of the music. Todd hums the melody to himself as he spins me, and laughs as I clumsily collapse into him from dizziness.
“Real light on your feet,” he jokes, his eyes quickly trailing from my lips down to my cleavage.
This dude cannot keep his eyes off my tits.
I chuckle stiffly as the song fades, the bar erupting into hollers of excitement as a popular line dance melody starts to fill the room.
“Oh, shit. I love this one,” Todd mutters, filing into place with the others along the center of the dance floor.
“I don’t know this dance,” I mouth to him, my eyes wide as a boy I don’t recognize grabs my hand and waist and starts to shuffle us along the dance floor to the beat of the music.
We dance for a few lines as I avoid eye contact, instead frantically scanning the room for any signs of Todd. He’s easy enough to find across the bar, his large frame towering over all the other people…
Except one.
Henry?
It is him. Standing by the door to the bar, dressed in a pressed button up and dark wash jeans, with his chestnut hair styled just as it was at our last meeting with Dr. Randie. His expression is simmering with anger – but he’s not looking at me. As I shuffle along to the beat of the song, a stranger still wrapped around my waist, I follow his gaze across the room.
He’s looking at Todd.