CHAPTER SEVEN: LONELY'S PT. 1

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 Her jeans and boots have been replaced by a dress — some red thing with little white flowers all over — and a pair of white tennis shoes.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.

I know it's not a lot of time, but it's something. I'll take what I can get.

I park the truck near the back of the lot and tug the keys out of the ignition. I don't give Alice a second to question our destination before hoppin' out of the cab.

Alice meets me by the hood. "Where exactly are we?" She prompts, shifting her purse up onto her shoulder.

"Lonely's," I answer, like it's all the explanation she'll need.

Alice scoffs at the name, but I spot the smile that flashes across her cheeks.

We walk towards the bar — which looks more like a metal storage container than anything else — and by the light of the streetlights up front, I see Alice realize there's really nothin' else in sight. Nothin' but big, empty, red dirt fields, and a two-lane highway.

Before we go inside, Alice pipes up to ask me, "You're not lying to me, right? This isn't some elaborate play to get me into your serial killer den?"

I laugh at her question. "You trust me enough to open the door and find out? We've come this far."

She does.

Opening the door to Lonely's is like walkin' straight into another world. The settled darkness is disrupted by a punch of noise — men, women, and music-makers alike all pouring sound into the space around us. Neon light floods the cement walk, drawing us both in with its welcoming glow.

Only two feet into the bar, I notice Alice's mouth has gone slack.

"You look shocked," I tell her.

"It's a Tuesday!" Alice says, blue eyes wide as she takes in the massive crowd around us.

I lower my hand to her back and rest it there, leading her forward towards the bar. "Every day is a Saturday here, darlin'."

Alice turns, those big eyes staring me down.

"It's all farmers and ranchers around these parts," I explain. "We don't — we don't usually take weekends, you know? When you work every day of your life, it doesn't matter much which nights you pick to go out 'n get drunk."

Someone hollers in front of us, drunkenly walkin' back away from a group of his friends. The man almost stumbles right into Alice, who jumps back into my grip to avoid a collision.

She's tight against my side now, and I hold her there until we manage to find two seats at the far end of the bar, away from the crazy.

Alice hoists herself up onto the barstool and sets her elbows on the bar. She settles, mouth turning up into a smile.

"This place is crazy," she comments, glancin' over her shoulder.

I copy her position, lookin' at the room around us. Tonight — just like every night I've ever been here — Lonely's is packed to the brim with rowdy. The bar is full, same as most of the tables, and the old, checkered dance floor is a sea of people. There's even a few out there I sort of recognize. The live band playin' on stage lends a chaotic sort of heartbeat into the space, keepin' everyone loose and movin' around the room.

The space is dark save for the flickering glow of neon signs hangin' round the perimeter, and when I look back at Alice I'm struck by how the blues and greens just bounce off her black hair.

I can't stop smilin'. "Is it a good kind of crazy?" I ask.

"Oh, definitely," Alice instantly replies, flashing a devilishly toothy grin.

I'm drawn in with just one look, shiftin' my weight on the barstool so I can get just an inch closer. I might be crazy, but I think Alice is doin' the same.

In the relatively comfortable dark of the bar, our game of cat 'n mouse is no more. All pretence has been dropped in favour of blatant, unbridled staring.

There's a different kind of energy between us here, like the real world outside don't exist. In here, Alice and I are just people. There's no Texas or New York, no cowboy or designer, no James, no nothin' but us — two people in a bar, intoxicated on the other before even orderin' a drink.

"But you like a little crazy," I flirt.

What — I'm flirting with her now? Jesus, Jasper.

Alice's eyes flutter back at me in surprise.

Her entire demeanour shifts, one leg coming up to cross over the other. "Depends," Alice replies, voice lower than usual. "Right now I do."

I force my eyes up and away from her legs.

We're interrupted before things get any further, but God, if Alice isn't drivin' me up a wall —

"'Sup, Whit?"

I look up to see Finch — the Lonely's faithful bartend — hoverin' behind the bar. The man hasn't aged a day since I saw him last, save for his receding hairline. He takes us both in with a lazy smile, and makes quick work of settin' two coasters down. When he gets up close, I see his eyes wander to, and stay on, Alice.

"Hey Finch," I reply, tryin' to turn the bartender's attention away from her.

His smile grows as he stares at Alice. "Who's this?" He asks.

Without hesitation, Alice leans forward and introduces herself. "Alice Cullen," she says, offerin' a toothy smile. "I'm staying at Jasper's ranch for the week."

"The whole week?" Finch asks, turning his eyes from Alice back to me. His mouth turns up into a smirk, eyes narrowin' down at me. "You dog," he says.

"Shut the Hell up," I grumble, eliciting a laugh from Finch.

"Jus' the regular for you then, Whit?"

"Sure." I turn to Alice. "What's your poison?" I ask.

"What's yours?" She shoots back quick.

"Whiskey neat."

Alice seems to consider my answer for a flash, then turns to the bartender and says, "I'll have what he's having."

He chuckles. "A woman after my own heart," Finch says, before leavin' Alice and I alone.

She turns her body in my direction. "That's a big boy drink," she comments, one corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk.

"Think you can handle it?" I ask, hopin' she doesn't notice when I glance at her tiny body.

Her posture straightens, brows risin' towards her hairline. "Think I can handle it?" Alice scoffs. "I grew up in the Upper East Side, with the richest, most despondent kids in New York. I can drink my weight in Vodka and still find my way back to the E train in one piece," she tells me proudly.

I have no idea what the 'E train' is, but I figure it must be impressive.

"Full of surprises, as always, Alice," I drawl. A thrill rushes through me when I say her name.

We both pull our elbows off the bar when Finch shows up, a tumbler of whiskey in each hand.

"Now tell me — how did Whit here talk you into a date? You're finer than a frog's hair split three ways," he says.

All of Alice moves in a fidgety, nervous way. She looks at me, mouth agape, and I swoop in to help.

"Ms. Cullen is a guest," I quickly say. "She's in from New York with her co-workers. They're usin' the space over at the ranch."

Finch is obviously interested, hoverin' longer than I've ever seen him do. I know exactly what he's thinkin' — if the pretty woman isn't here with Jasper, she must be fair game.

"No kiddin'," he says, leanin' further towards my companion. "You're mighty far from home, aren't you sweetheart?"

Alice let out a laugh I haven't heard before — one without a lick of humour to it. I look over to see that she's lookin' to me for help, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Alright," I say, ready to do just about anything to ease that expression off her face. "That's enough, Finch. We're here on business." It's a lie, but i'll say what I have to. When Finch doesn't immediately disappear, I sit a little straighter and throw him a stern glare.

He knocks his knuckles against the bar top and shoots Alice a wink. "I'll check on y'all later, then." Then we're left alone.

I relax — just a little — turnin' my body to face Alice better.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that," I bashfully say, embarrassed by Finch's forwardness. "I forgot about Finch. It's not often that man sees a new face 'round here. I'm sure he was just … curious."

"It's alright," she softly says, relaxin' against the bar again. She turns her glass 'round and 'round in her hand and we both watch the honey-coloured water spin within it. "You two know each other well?"

My eyes snap up to her face. "Not really," I say. "It's hard to forget people in a town this small. We all sorta know each other."

Alice takes my answer and nods, not pausing a beat before shootin' another question my way. "Why does everyone call you 'Whit'?" She asks, lifting the glass of whiskey half-way to her lips. "Don't you like Jasper?"

I smile.

"Nah — I like it fine. Jasper's my Dad's name, though. And his dad's name — and his dad's dad's name. Kind of starts gettin' confusin' after awhile."

Her face breaks into a smile so strong it almost knocks me off my seat. "So you're Jasper Whitlock the fourth?" She asks, apparently delighted by this.

"The fifth, actually," I answer.

"Now that's what I call a name," Alice jokes. "Jasper Whitlock the fifth," she says all hoity-toity, takin' my name for a test drive.

"Whit is fine," I answer.

"I like Jasper," Alice says.

When Alice is sayin' my name, I like it too.

I forgo a real answer to Alice's compliment, instead offering a chuff of laughter and a shake of my head. I lift my whiskey to my lips and take a long sip of the amber liquid. It soothes my over-excited body, relaxin' every muscle in me.

Alice looks down into her glass for a long moment and then follows suit. She sips back almost half the glass and sets it down, her face not so much as twistin' at the taste.

"That must be a lot of pressure. Means you've got a lot to live up to."

"That's uh — that's an understatement," I explain. "The ranch goes back almost as far as the name, y'know? It's on me to keep tradition alive, 'n now I've got the family business, too. Without my Dad around, it's all on me." My throat constricts as soon as I speak the words. I snap my mouth shut.

That's the first time I've spoken of him in — God, I don't know how long.

I glance at Alice and the saddened, but still unperturbed expression on her face tells me she knows exactly what's runnin' through my head. She knows — somehow, she knows.

"Alright," I huff out, shovin' my now empty glass away from me. "Did Peter tell you this mornin' or have you figured me out yourself, lil' Ms. Smarty Pants?"

Alice glances up at me, that same half-watt smile on her face. "A little bit of both," she meekly says. "I had a feeling — and I have been living in your house the past few days, you know. It's hard not to see all the family photos without wondering where those people went."

I nod my head, eyes glued to the bar top.

"Peter told me the rest this morning," Alice admits.

"Of course he did," I groan.

"Don't blame him," Alice tells me. "I'm the one who asked all the questions — I'm just too curious for my own good"

I want to be upset that my best friend spilled all my secrets to a relative stranger. Part of me knows I should be, but I'm not. I can't find it in my heart to be mad at Peter. All he did was save me from tellin' Alice myself.

When I lift my tired face into a smile, Alice relaxes beside me.

"I was sorry to hear about your dad," she says, juts loud enough for me to hear over the music. "And your mom —"

Shit — Peter told her that, too? The gossipy bastard. I nervously clear my throat, fidgeting uncomfortably under the weight of Alice's stare.

"Well — Peter didn't tell me what happened, but he told me you were young when you lost her," Alice says.

I give a quick nod of my head, my jaw clenched tight.

"We don't — we really don't have to talk about it —" Alice stops for a moment, nervously tuckin' hair behind her ear. "But my mom — she uh, she died when I was seven. So — I mean — I get it. That kind of thing stays with you your whole life."

I've got my whole body turned in Alice's direction now. My mouth is slack, eyes focused so intently on her face I can feel them going dry. My heart aches for her, but I can't find the strength to vocalize my sympathy.

"—Or, I don't know," she backtracks, eyes dartin' away from my face and back to her drink. "Everyone's different."

"No," I say. "No, you're right. That's — it does. I think about her every day."

Alice smiles the same tired, nervous smile I've been wearin' and looks away, busyin' herself with the remainder of her whiskey.

Once she sets the glass back down on the table, I find it in me to say, "I'm sorry about your mom."

Alice peeks in my direction, givin' a quick shake of her head. "It's been a very long time," she says. "Life keeps moving forward, right?"

"Right," I agree.

And maybe it's the liquor, or the fact that I haven't been able to talk about this with much of anyone, but I find myself telling Alice everything.

"It's way different with my Dad," I explain. "He's been gone almost a year now, 'n I still don't think I've fully realized he's gone. I don't know. It's like — God, I don't know. I want to miss him and I do, but most of me still feels like he's here. Like, right here. All the time."

" — But I know that he's gone. It's impossible to forget, when I've got his whole reputation to take care of. So it's like — I've got to keep shockin' myself back into reality. Every day I wake myself up and go, 'oh, yeah, this is my life now'. Then I get to work and I get through the day reminding myself over and over and over. It's the same when I get home. Every step of the day — every single day — I force myself to remember."

When I finally find the will to shut up, I notice that Alice's mouth has turned up into a weird sort of sad smile. She must think I'm crazy, droppin' all this on her.

"Sorry," I say, hangin' my head. "Listen to me puttin' all this on you—"

"It's not that," Alice interrupts. Her hand is on mine, her thin fingers squeezing my knuckles. "It's just — I can't even begin to explain to you how well I know what you're talking about."

I blink, then blink again.

How is she possible? I think. Where did this perfect, impossible woman come from? How did I end up here, lucky enough to be at her side?

Somethin' compels me to flip my hand over, to press my palm against Alice's palm. She's warm and soft and doesn't move when we touch, which only encourages me to curl my fingers around hers and squeeze tight.

I'm a weak, weak man. I know I shouldn't even be lookin' at Alice, but here we are —

"Gotta say, Alice, I hate that you do."

Alice shakes her head, that neon light in her hair bouncin' all around us. "Some things just take time to get used to," she tells me, matter-of-fact. "It won't last forever."

My lips twitch up into a smile. There it is again — that 'silver lining' attitude of hers. Just like last night, her positivity has me amazed. I lean closer, my eyes narrowing as I approach. "Who are you?" I ask, letting out a breathless chuckle.

"What do you mean?" Alice asks me, laughing nervously. Her hand pulls out of mine, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of black hair back behind her ear.

"It's like — you're — I don't know. I consider myself a pretty rock solid guy, but you — you make me nervous."

"I don't mean to."

I shake my head. "It's not a bad thing. Far from it," I explain, "there's just somethin' about you — just the way you are. I feel like I could tell you anythin'."

"That makes you nervous?" Alice asks tenuously.

"Yes," I say. "And happy."

Either someone's turned on a red light or Alice is blushin' like mad.

" — And a million other things," I continue.

"Scared?" she questions, voice more confident now. I glance up to see that she's smiling at me.

"Yeah, that too," I say, smiling back.

"It's not just you," she admits, that her pleased expression gone somber. "You make me nervous, too. And scared."

My smile falters. "And happy?"

Alice's serious expression breaks back into a content little smile. "Yes," she says, "between all that, yes."

"That'll do," I reply.

We keep talkin' after that — some about the ranch, but mostly about Alice's work, a whole universe of words I've never heard before. She tells me about her plans for the line, I tell her about my plans to fix what was once her cabin. We go back 'n forth, talkin' for what feels like ages, but I'm far from ready to stop. The conversation flows just as natural as liquor at a bar, so it only seems right to order a second round. This time, I let Alice pick the drink of choice.

With her featherlight voice, Alice orders us two shots of tequila.

"Sun of a gun — you sure do drink like you're from around here," I say.

Alice rolls her eyes at me.

When Finch returns with our next round, he does so silently. Alice picks up one of the small shot glasses and nudges the other in my direction.

"Come on," she says, a playful glint in her blue eyes. "Gotta do shots at the same time."

"Is that so?" I ask, already lifting the glass to my lips.

Alice laughs and knocks her glass against mine before throwing it back. I do the same, but almost choke laughing half way through. Alice's face has contorted, her mouth puckered. She shakes her head, setting the shot glass down with a hard thud. "Jesus Christ," she breathes.

I keep laughing. "You ain't in New York anymore," I remind her. "That's what real tequila tastes like, darlin'."

"Oh my God," she groans. "No salt or like, lime or —?"

"What?" I ask, crackin' up more. "Pretty sure people only do that because they have to, with cheap tequila tastin' like ass 'n all. You don't do that with the real stuff."

"Warn a girl next time!"

Next time — I hear her words in my mind over and over again, louder than the band across the room. Next time. Next time. I've never wanted anythin' more than a 'next time' with Alice.

"And miss watchin' your cute little face mess up like that? No way in Hell," I croak out.

Alice sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to contain the grin that threatens to break.

Somethin' like hope is growing in my system all the while.

I know it's wrong — I know there are a million and one reasons why Alice and I are the last thing that should be — but I know what I want. Namely, I want that bottom lip of hers right where I can get it. I want that dress on my floor and that hair in my hand. I want Alice.

I turn my stare from Alice's lips upwards, and I'm wholly unsurprised to see that she's staring right back, eyes wide and attentive.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm startin' to think maybe she wants me, too.

A wave of confidence — or drunkenness — washes over me, and I find myself strugglin' against the urge to tell Alice everything I'm feeling. I'm close to doin' it, too, when I remind myself - Sunday. Come Sunday, all of this gets taken away. I could take the time I have with Alice - enjoy the next few days with someone I admire - or I could open my big mouth on a hunch and a feeling, potentially ruinin' this what we've got. I clench my teeth hard, and remind myself of somethin' my Dad used to tell me: better to keep your mouth shut and seem a fool than open it up and remove all doubt.

He's right — I know he's right — and it kills me.

Alice's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "You know something?" She asks.

"What?"

Alice glances out at the crowd and then back to me, her face floodin' with that same pink from before.

"I don't think I'd get through this week without you."

"Well sure you would," I reply, steadfast.

Alice lets out a scoff and shakes her head. "Are you kidding me? I'd be squished under a tree or coyote food by now, if it wasn't for you."

"You'd've figured it out," I say in return, shrugging my shoulders. "Texas ain't so difficult once you get used to it, 'n — "

"Jasper," she insists, smile blooming wider across her face, "just let me thank you."

I go quiet, pretendin' to zip my lips.

Alice's smile turns full-force grin.

"I've never met someone so generous," she says. "When something happens, you're — you're always ready to jump in and help me handle it. Like — y'know — the roof caves in and you take it in stride. I do something stupid, like trying find my memory card in the middle of the night, and you make it your personal mission to help. It's — It's impossibly kind."

I want to say: It's not kindness, it's you. I'm doing this for you. Instead, I give a curt nod of my head and reply: "anything you need. I'm here to help."

"Well, thank you," Alice says sweetly. "If there's anything I can do —"

The bar erupts around us, folks laughin' and cheerin' as the band begins playing a new song. I don't recognize it, and I don't think Alice does either, but she turns around on her barstool to watch them. Her cherry coloured lips pull into a smile, her elbows comin' back to rest against the edge of the counter.

God, she looks so beautiful, leaned up against the bar like that. I've seen Alice all kinds of ways — nervous, excited, angry — but never like this, just relaxed, totally and completely at peace. It's got me starin' (again), eyes trailing down from her shiny black hair to her bare arms, to that little red dress.

I have to wonder if Alice knew what she was doing, puttin' that thing on. I wonder if she knows how well it fits her. I wonder if she knows how much I like red — Hell, after tonight, it might be my favourite colour. All of her is amazing. Every bit.

But in the end, it's somethin' about that dress has me sayin': "you know, actually — there might be one thing you could do for me."

Alice turns to look at me, her big blue eyes reflecting neon.

"C'mere," I say. I reach my hand out and take hers, standin' from my barstool as I do.

I take a step backwards, and Alice slides down off her barstool, a devilish smile on her face.

"Where are we going?" She asks, tiptoeing along in her white shoes.

"Come dance with me."

A/N: Keep your eyes peeled for part 2! I'm hoping (!) to have it up in the next few days! As always - for music given in a chapter or any other inspo, check out my Golden Hour tumblr - twiwrite ! Hope y'all enjoy ~