Lonely's (Pt. 1)

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There's somethin' 'bout a girl in a red sundress
With an ice cold beer pressed against her lips
In that farmer's field, will make a boy a mess
There's somethin' 'bout a girl in a red sundress

(Somethin' 'Bout a Truck, Kip Moore)

CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOL / DRINKING

TUESDAY

JASPER

Like magic, Alice walks out of the house lookin' a whole new person from two minutes ago. Her jeans and boots have been replaced by a dress — some red thing with little white flowers all over — and a pair of white tennis shoes. Her hair is all fixed back into place.

"Shoot," I say, as she descends the front steps to meet me. "If I had known you we're gonna get all dressed up I'd've gone and changed."

Alice laughs, eyes darting down to stare at the ground. "I just threw this on," she tells me, hands goin' to futz with the fabric. I hope she doesn't notice my eyes followin' her movements and down some, along the lines of her pale legs.

It's not fair that one woman look so stunning with so little effort, but there she is.

We're just friends, I tell myself. Two friends — business associates, even — grabbin' a drink after a long day at work. So for the love of God, stop lookin' at her legs!

"I couldn't justify leaving this property in muddy clothes," she continues on, finally stoppin' right in front of me. If it's even possible, Alice looks more beautiful up close. Her face is bright with excitement, her mouth in a smile that never seems to fade.

But it's how she's wearin' that dress — that wonderful, tight red dress — that's got me most distracted.

Stop it.

"Well you sure look fine to me," I mutter as casually as I can muster.

"You don't look so bad yourself," Alice says, takin' a moment to let her eyes wander down my body.

For the first time in a long time, I feel self conscious of my appearance. I know just what I look like — sunburnt, dirty, wrinkled — and it's nothin' compared to the woman's ensemble. If Alice sees anythin' interesting, I don't know what it is.

"Sure," I say. "C'mon, then."

We spend the whole trip to Lonely's tiptoeing around each other. It's like a game of cat 'n mouse — we won't dare let the other spot us lookin'. I turn my head to catch her eye and Alice shifts to look out the window. She turns back to look at me, and once I see her move, I turn my eyes back to the road.

It's a game we play well, and in relative silence.

Some country station hums through the speakers. It's not the channel I usually listen to — Peter must've switched things around when he took the truck with Alice this morning — but Alice seems to like it. Every time I look over, she's tappin' her fingers along with the beat. It's real nice, bein' with Alice now, but part of me is jealous that Peter got to spend all that extra time with her this morning.

By the time we arrive at our destination, it's already half past eleven. The world around us has gone to bed, all except for this one vital place — Lonely's bar.

We'd agreed on one drink, so the late hour doesn't bother me much. We won't stay long, I tell myself. An hour, tops. That way I'll have Alice home before too late.

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