"Wow, it's like Top Gun in here." Ali had to yell above the music in the roadside bar to have any chance at being heard. The place was packed with uniformed servicemen and women singing karaoke, reminding her of that iconic serenade scene. It was one of her favorite movies.

"Shhh. Don't say that," Wylda hushed, playfully covering Ali's mouth with one hand. "Are you trying to get our arses kicked?"

Ali looked at her with a blank expression, so Wylda explained. "Top Gun . . . that movie was Navy. This is Air Force. Totally different."

Ali wanted to ask how her new English friend was more of an expert on American military branches than a native New Yorker, but Pete pushed them forward. "Move along, ladies. I'm going to need a drink real quick to handle all this eye candy," he said before finding a spot at the bar and placing an order for three shots and beer chasers.

"I wasn't really planning on drinking," Ali protested as the bartender poured the tequila.

Wylda nudged her shoulder. "Ya think you can handle him sober?" She nodded to Dave the pasty broker, approaching in ill-fitting khakis and a button-down shirt more suitable for church than a country watering hole.

Ali reached for the liquor and downed it in one shot, slamming the empty glass onto the counter. "Dave! Great to see you," she said with a forced grin as the liquid warmed her from the inside out.

Poor Dave. He didn't have to know she was only using him to try to make Hank jealous. It was hard enough keeping a straight face while trying to convince Wylda—who probably saw through the lie, but was nice enough not to prod—of her sudden change of heart.

Driven by guilt and a second drink, they hit the dance floor. Apart from amateur singers brave enough to take the microphone, the eclectic playlist ranged from country line dancing to techno hip-hop and everything in between. The alcohol lowered Ali's inhibitions, but letting loose felt right. And thanks to Wylda and Pete, the drinks kept coming. They danced and laughed until her sides hurt. When three young airmen took to the stage and began singing a classic rock ballad, Ali decided she needed a break and excused herself back to the bar.

"Hot damn," Pete said as he eyed the performance from atop a stool, fanning himself before finishing his beer. "This is my kind of place."

"Why aren't you out there?" she asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I bet you have some serious moves."

"Oh, I do, sweet pea. I'm just doing y'all a favor by not shaming your lame-ass white-girl dancing." He laughed before giving her a high five. "What'll you have?"

"Just water," she breathlessly answered, glancing behind her to look for her date. "Dave?"

He wasn't there, but Wylda—who'd been chatting up a rugged cowboy—stared in horror as the first chords of "Brown Eyed Girl" began to play. "Oh. My. God," she stammered.

Ali followed her line of sight just in time to witness her recent dance partner getting on the platform to awkwardly sing the words off the nearby screen. When he caught her looking, Dave increased his enthusiasm and—unfortunately—volume. The entire bar collectively cringed before a few charitable onlookers joined in to help Dave carry a tune.

With his confidence boosted, he headed for Ali. The spectacle unfolded like a slow-motion train wreck as Dave sang directly to her, but hopefully it wasn't as evident to everyone else. By the way he was gradually approaching, though, it soon would be.

"Water. I need water," she said to Pete, doubling-down on her request without taking her eyes off the action.

Unscrewing the bottle, Ali frantically drank half in practically one gulp. The water hit her stomach all at once, forming a knot in her gut, which was made worse by the sweaty man pathetically spewing the inappropriate lyrics in her direction.

Just because her eyes matched the color of the song's original subject, Dave had no right to croon about the fun times they'd shared since they didn't even exist! Did he even have a clue about how desperate he seemed after only meeting her that morning?

Ali gasped as a realization hit her. Dear lord, she'd practically done the same thing.

After Hank had caught her eye, she'd spent half the day lusting after him and the other half trying to come up with a plan to get his attention. Talk about pathetic!

Well, it hadn't worked, and she wasn't going to try further. Clearly her accident and the meds were messing with her ability to reason. Maybe Lassiter had been right to send her on a hiatus from Foxhall.

With Dave getting closer by the second, Ali didn't have much time before their collective embarrassment would be sealed. Gritting her teeth, she looked for a quick getaway, but there was a crowd lingering in the entrance, making it hard for even a newcomer to squeeze inside. She'd need another place to hide.

"I'm going to disappear for a sec," she yelled above the music when a pretty young woman in uniform distracted Dave by joining him in the song.

"Sure." Wylda nodded. "Do you want me to come with?"

Ali shook her head and pointed at the poor man singing the last chorus. "No. Just help me avoid him for a bit."

Wylda gave her a thumbs-up, before Ali ducked behind some people to scurry away. When she saw that the line at the ladies' room stretched into the hallway, she headed out front, instead. Keeping her gaze down to avoid Dave's notice, Ali squeezed through the crowd until she ran headfirst into someone tall and surprisingly steady on his feet. She stumbled backward before looking up, and it took a few more seconds for her to place him.

Her earlier uneasiness multiplied exponentially as she stared up at Hank from Pebble Creek Lodge. She watched his eyes narrow in the dim lighting and then fly open comically as he also recognized her. Caught between two equally uncomfortable situations, Ali struggled for breath as the last—and clearly unnecessary—shot of tequila began coming back up. Covering her mouth with one hand and pushing Hank out of her way with the other, she slammed open the door and stumbled outside.

She made it as far away from the entry as she could before leaning against the siding and vomiting into the bushes. Shutting her eyes, she prayed Hank hadn't cared enough to follow.

"Can I do anything to help?" His deep voice came from behind her. Fuck. He was every bit the gentleman she didn't need right now.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Ali turned. "I just need to go home."

"Do you want me to find your . . .." He paused before clearing his throat. "Ehm, date?"

Was he making fun of her? "No!" Ali exclaimed. Dave was the last person she wanted to see right now, especially given the present company. Catching Hank's puzzled expression, she clarified. "I actually came with Pete and Wylda, but they're pretty wasted. Neither of them is in any state to drive. You wouldn't happen to have a rideshare account, would you?"

"I can drive you back to the lodge," he offered, taking a step closer, but she retreated.

"Absolutely not." Ali vehemently shook her head, which just made her even dizzier. Putting her hands out to regain her balance, she wobbled and Hank advanced again. She couldn't stop him this time from wrapping an arm around her in support. Damn, that felt nice.

"Fine, but at least sit down while I call you an Uber," he said as he ushered her to a bench. When she was safely seated, he looked into her eyes. "Well, what do you know? They are brown."

Crap. He'd seen—and heard—more than she'd realized. "Does my misery amuse you?" she asked, trying to focus on anything but the woodsy scent of his aftershave.

The corners of his lips twitched as he tried not to laugh. "No, I'm not amused."

Ali wanted to scold him for the lie, but he wasn't done talking.

"I'm Hank, by the way," he said, at least knowing better than to offer his hand for the one of hers that probably had remnants of puke on it.

Unfortunately, Ali wasn't as self-aware. "I know," she replied before realizing the admission revealed she'd taken interest in him earlier. Although it was the truth, she now felt like a total stalker for it.

But left without another choice, she continued the charade of propriety. "I'm Ali," she said, before cradling her head in her hands.

"I know."

Hank's reply caught her off guard and Ali flinched, having to will herself to keep her gaze down no matter how much she wanted to see the look on his face right at that moment. Because it was one thing for her to gossip with another guest about a member of the lodge's staff, but it was quite another for him to do the same. And if he was curious enough to find out her name, then that changed the game entirely.

Wait! Was he even at the bar just because she was? It was a local joint, sure, but if he dug around enough to learn her identity and since he definitely heard her accept Dave's invitation, maybe he also found out where their—cringe—date would be.

"This isn't New York City where you can get a car any time you please," Hank mumbled as he pulled out his phone, breaking her musings as he jumped to the next task. "And even if we get one, it could be a half an hour."

Although she felt like hell warmed over, there were worse things she could think of than waiting around in the present company,especially after what she'd just learned. But the bar door creaked open.

"Hey, Jackson," Hank called out to the older man leaving with a woman on his arm.

"What's up, Mathis? We missed you inside." Jackson greeted Hank with a handshake.

Hank stopped his friend as his date continued toward a sports car parked nearby. "I have a favor to ask if you have room in that hot rod for one more." The bass from the bar drowned out the rest of their brief conversation until Hank returned to Ali's side and filled her in.

"This guy is a good friend of mine. I know for a fact he doesn't drink, so I completely trust him to deliver you safely back to Pebble Creek tonight." When she began to object, he pressed on. "If you're not going to let me take you, then he's your best bet if you want to get back there within a reasonable amount of time."

Ali sighed. Her head was now throbbing, and she needed to stay sensible. "Fine. Thank you." She stood. "Can you just tell my friends I've gone and maybe see they get home okay?"

Hank nodded. "Sure."

The single word meant both nothing and everything at the same time. He had been undeniably polite, yet the way he uttered the lone syllable was full of pity. 

Oh,she was such a fool! How could she even think that he was there to pursue her?He worked at Pebble Creek Lodge, for goodness' sake. Liz or maybe even a therapist probably told him to keep an eye on any guests he ran into, in case theyneeded help. And she had been just enough of a mess not to ignore.

Ali wanted to sink into the ground and scurry under the nearest rock. Instead, she forced herself into the tiny backseat of Jackson's sporty Mazda. Her plan had worked: Hank had definitely noticed her. But she'd made a complete fool out of herself in the process. This wasn't her. This wasn't the Ali she wanted him to notice. What had she been thinking?

Alejandra Barros wasn't used to failure, and it was clear she wasn't past her low point. Perhaps Pebble Creek was just what she needed; a little rest and self-reflection never hurt anyone.

Fine. She'd stay, but not for anyone else. She would focus on her own well-being.

Hank Mathis had been a brief—and probably necessary— distraction on the way here. She'd needed to crash and burn with him so she could see the situation clearly, but now she had to shake off the handsome cowboy's allure and move on.

But when she caught the lingering scent of his cologne where he'd touched her shoulder, a tingle ran through her. Something told her that this resolution was probably easier to make than to keep.