Page 61 of One Last Shot
“You’re afraid Oaken will get hurt.”
In more ways than one.She nodded.
“Because he likes you. And you like him.”
She looked at Moose.
“Nowyouhave the look.”
“I don’t—I . . . we’re co-workers.”
“Yep. Like my favorite waitress.”
She smiled. “You going to ask her out?”
“Dunno yet. Maybe. But...” He leaned back in his chair. “Oaken has been good for you. It’s nice to hear you laugh. You keep too much bottled up.”
“Trust me, you want all this bottled up.”
He didn’t laugh at her poor attempt at humor.
“There’s nothing wrong with letting someone into your life, Boo. Trusting them. You don’t always have to hold your emotions so tight to your chest.”
She considered him a moment, the words working through her. “I don’t even know what that looks like,” she said, and couldn’t believe that whispered out.
“Maybe you give it a try,” he said, equally soft.
The door opened, and Mr. Country Music walked out of the locker room, his hair still a little wet, wearing a denim shirt over his thermal undershirt, a pair of jeans, hiking boots, and aleather jacket.
And no Huxley in sight.
“Ready?” he asked.
Moose looked at him. “Where are you going?”
“Tenderfoot,” Boo said, but her voice sounded strange.
Probably because no, she wasn’t ready at all.
Moose smiled. “Oh. It’s karaoke night. Have fun.”
She and Oaken frowned at him, but he just leaned forward and starting typing.
“I worried you would get hurt.”
Somehow Oaken couldn’t get those words out of his head the entire drive over to the Tenderfoot. Mostly because that’s exactly what he’d thought when he saw her slam against the chopper. And then again when he got a good look at that bruise.
It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Another person getting hurt because of him? Or at least while they were with him?
But in truth, if he took a look at the reasons why he’d stuck with this crazy project, probably yes, this was all his fault. Because he was selfish. And maybe a coward. And weak. And probably stubborn. And most of all, worried too much about disappointing the wrong people. At least, that was his current list, based on the comments of too many followers.
And yet, still, here he sat, hoping to make her laugh, ignoring the fact that he should walk away from her, and probably from the whole show.
Because the last person he wanted hurt was Boo Kingston.
Still, he pulled up to the Tenderfoot, glancing over at her with a grin as he heard country music pouring out from under the door. “This sounds like my kind of place.”
“Apparently,” shesaid and got out.