“Hey, slow down.” She squeezes my hand. “This is hurting my leg.”
“Fuck,” I curse. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she assures with a small smile. “But you were practically dragging me.”
I feel like such an asshole that for a split second I forgot about her leg. She hasn’t had much pain lately and hasn’t needed her cane, but it’s no excuse for me to not make accommodations for her.
“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “Do you need ice?”
“I’ll be okay, but I will be teasing you about this endlessly.”
“I expect no less,” I respond, closing my hand around one of the chairs and pulling it out for her. She hops into the seat, and I join her at the one across.
She looks around, taking in the ambiance of the bar. Wood paneling on the walls, a dancefloor in front of a stage set up with instruments just waiting for someone to grab them, and neon signs throughout.
“If you asked me to picture a smalltown country bar, I think this place would walk out of my brain,” she says, her focus sliding back to me.
“It has a certain kind of charm to it.”
“Hey, y’all,” our waitress greets. “What can I get ya tonight?”
I grab one of the sticky plastic menus from the center of the table. “Do you have anything on draft?”
“Yeah, we’ve got all your basics and a few local options from a brewery nearby.”
“I’ll take one of the local options. Surprise me.”
“I’ll do the same,” Ebba says.
“And anything to eat?” The waitress taps her pen against her pad.
“Not yet,” I answer.
We ate at my parents so neither of us is hungry yet, but in a few more hours we might need something.
“I’ll grab those beers for you,” she says, disappearing with a swish of her ponytail.
Ebba rests her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, dark eyes assessing me. “What?” I ask, confused.
“Nothing. I just … it’s interesting seeing you here. I’m so used to seeing you around the courts and not in a country bar. You don’t have a cowboy hat, do you?”
“No.” My eyes narrow, wondering where she’s going with this. “Why?”
She gives me a teasing smile. “How’s the saying go? Save a horse, ride the guy in a cowboy hat?”
“Fuck.” I scrub my hands down my face. “I’m going to find a fucking hat.”
Looking around, there’s plenty of guys wearing them in here. It shouldn’t be too hard to find one abandoned on a table somewhere.
I know she’s only teasing me, but the visual of her riding me is a bit hard to shake.
“You’d look good in one.”
“Yeah?” I swallow down my desire. I don’t want to read into this. Ebba is still, rightfully, confused about what she wants, and I can’t think with my dick here. Even if she’s the one flirting with me, I don’t want to act on it just because I turn into a hormonal teenage boy when it comes to her. I don’t want to fuck her again until I know for sure that she’s mine as much as I’ve always been hers.
“Mhm,” she hums.
The waitress appears with beers in hand. “Here are those beers for you guys. Holler if you need anything.”