Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Sally and Patsy look at each other and shrug. “Since Sally turned twenty-one and was able to walk through those doors,” Patsy says, nodding at the bar’s entrance. “Haven’t looked back since.”
Sally smiles, resting her head on her mom’s shoulder. “Mom’s a legend. I’m just trying to keep up.”
“You’re the legend, honey. Operating on thoroughbreds by day, fiddling like a pro by night.” Patsy’s eyes shine. “I’m so proud of you.”
Seeing them interact so easily—one doesn’t seem to be babysitting the other—my heart turns over. I wouldn’t say I’m jealous, because I know jealousy isn’t going to get me anywhere.
I just wish my mom were lit up like that.
I wish she’d do something fun, something that got her outside the damn house, like that.
People are pouring into the honky-tonk, greeting each other with hugs, kisses, high fives.
I’ve never seen so many cowboy hats—or backward baseball hats—in my life.
I am in heaven. Especially when a guy passing by blatantly checks me out and Colton yanks me closer, draping his arm over my shoulder so that I’m tucked snugly into his side.
He’s clearly staking his claim. It’s inappropriate.
It’s wildly sexy.
My head barely comes up to his collarbone. He feels solid and warm against me. Safe. Even though he’s anything but.
A little while later, Sally, Patsy, and the rest of Frisky Whiskey take the stage. The growing crowd erupts in hoots and hollers. Because I’m a little buzzed, I join in, stomping my feet on the sticky floor.
I half expect Colton to recoil. Or stay silent at the very least.
I guess I need to stop assuming so much, because suddenly he’s letting out the loudest whistle I think I’ve ever heard.
“Holy shit!” I yell, laughing.
He shrugs, looking so adorably delicious that I have to resist the very strong urge to go up on my toes and kiss him.
I’m not gonna be the girl who breaks all her rules for a cowboy she’ll never see again. So instead, I lean in and bite his neck.
Naturally.
His hand finds my nape. “You’re playin’ dirty.”
“We never set any rules”—I gasp when he digs his thumb into the tender spot where my neck slopes into my shoulder—“other than to detest each other.”
The band breaks out in the first notes of a song I immediately recognize—“Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
“Wanna go detest each other on the dance floor?” he asks.
I grab his hand. “Sure. But only because I love Brooks & Dunn.”
“Aw, now that ain’t fair. No one can hold a candle to Kix and Ronnie.” He twines our fingers.
He’s always doing that—always making me feel breathless. “You’re a fan too, huh?”
“What kinda cowboy would I be if I weren’t?”
“Not one I’d dance with.” I give his hand a tug, and this time he’s the one following me.
I start to move my hips as we walk, adjusting my grip on Colton’s hand so I can hold his arm over my shoulder. We step onto the floor.
I’m about to pull him closer when he’s suddenly pressing his front to my back. He’s moving his hips too, and then he drops my hand to reach around so he can flatten his own hand against my belly to pull me even closer.
My body pounds at his nearness. At the confident, easy way he moves with me, touches me. The way he takes the lead, ducking his head so he can scrape his lips against my neck. At the same time, he rolls his shoulder, using his bulk to get me to roll mine too in time to the beat.
“Fuck.”
I don’t realize I’ve said the word out loud until Colton chuckles in my ear. “What, Dallas?” He has to shout over the sound of the band.
I turn my head to find his face half an inch from mine. My eyes immediately flick to his mouth, which looks very full and very inviting from this angle.
Just do it. But I can’t.
I won’t. I learned the hard way how kissing is the most dangerous game of all.
“You’re not supposed to be a good dancer.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re—you were—a block of freaking stone.”
“I can make a joke about being hard if that’d make you feel better.”
You make me feel better just by being you.
I’m laughing and so is he, and then he’s spinning me around in his arms. He’s curling his arm around my waist, his beer pressing into my side as he grabs my free hand.
Then he’s somehow moving us around the packed dance floor without bumping into a single person. People watch as we pass. Some stare. Several women—and a few men—check out Colton.
I get it.
I can’t stop smiling. He holds up our joined arms, encouraging me to twirl, and I go for it. Because why not?
Because this man seems to find anything and everything I do a serious turn-on.
I take my time turning, shaking my ass to a Kane Brown cover. Someone hoots. Someone else hollers.