Page 85 of Tennessee Trouble

I look down at George’s name badge. Sure enough, he has a voting member ribbon. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He knows the results of the Most Original Cocktail vote.

“Did they not tell you?” George questions, pointing over at the registration table. “I’m a little surprised, given the runoff situation.”

Errrr…runoff?

Glancing over at Lindee, I say a silent prayer that this isn’t what I think this is. She doesn’t acknowledge me, simply continues to stare of George like he’s a one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eater.

Meanwhile, George’s eyes dart between us, trying to read the room. And failing.

“There was a tie in the Most Original Cocktail category,” he continues, still clearly oblivious. “First time in competition history. So, they opted to hold a runoff. There’s a whole station dedicated to taking votes from the attendees on which drink should win.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Lindee prompts.

Don’t say it, don’t say it…

My heart rate spikes, breath stalling in my lungs as I wait for him to open Pandora’s box. To put it out in the open. Tell her what I failed to.

“They’re yours. The top two were the ones from Tennessee Trouble and Southern Brothers. Both were damn good; it was a really tough choice.”

Fuuuuuuuck…

I nod, not knowing how else to respond. What else is there to say now? Cat is out of the bag.

I’d do pretty much anything right now to shove him back inside.

“Oh.”

That’s all Lindee says. Oh. One single syllable.

My heart stops again, the entire room feeling like the world turned on its axis. This isn’t good.

“Bobby!” George hollers, holding up a hand and waving. “If y’all will excuse me.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, bobbing around us to head off to his next victim. I have no idea who he’s going to talk to. What I do know is that there is no way for him to do more damage than he just did.

“Lindee…” I say, cautiously.

Turning to me, the most beautiful, brilliant woman I’ve ever met looks up with tears in her eyes. Those hazel irises are glassy and hazy, paired with a quivering lip as she fights back some powerful emotion.

Fuck me. I did that. I caused her this pain. And I want to die.

Lindee clears her throat, her voice small and wobbly as she asks me the hardest question I’ve ever had to answer.

“You submitted a drink?”

22

LINDEE

This is not happening.

I’m imagining things.

This is nothing but a bad dream.