how to dance.”
She laughs and slips out of my hold.
Twisting her shoulders with a saucy little switch of her hips, she does another twirl before stepping closer again. “I didn’t say I can’t dance. I said I don’t dance. Words, mister.”
Little minx.
Her smile, the shimmer in her eyes, the way her gold hair flips and falls back in soft waves around her face, over her shoulders, mesmerizes me for life.
I know how insane that sounds.
I’m the dude living this crazy.
Fact remains, I can’t take my eyes off her, and I wouldn’t be a red-blooded male if I wasn’t thinking about fucking her hard and deep.
There’s no denying it.
She’s had me thinking about that in sweltering flashes ever since I saw her at the Purple Bobcat, hiding her curves behind that puffy white coat.
It’s a trope in every romance film ever made to tug on heartstrings.
Instant attraction.
Turns out, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting when it happens in real life, when you meet a girl who’s such a magnet you wind up fighting yourself tooth and nail to stay sane.
And not giving into pure insanity is getting harder every minute I spend with my eyes glued to those flaming blue eyes, those ample tits, an ass I could hit so hard I’d wake the dead.
Sweet mercy.
I’ve played more than one role where my character was insta-lusting after a woman, and a couple scenes later, we were in bed together.
I’ve had my share of flings in real life, too. Cautiously because I’ve always known the risks. Sleeping with the wrong person has destroyed more than one career in Tinseltown.
I shake my head, dispelling the sex-crazed track I’ve been heading down and grab Grace by the waist, hold her hips against mine as we fly across the floor to another tune.
The feel of her, the scent, the sight, it’s the grounding I need, even if it’s still driving me a special kind of crazy.
I need to remember why we’re here.
As the music ends, I grasp her hand and pull her up on the small corner stage where the local band—who aren’t bad for a group of kids barely old enough to drink—flash a thumbs-up.
They must appreciate how we’ve been tearing up the floor.
She’s frowning as I shoot her a grin before asking the lead singer if I can borrow his mic.
The singer passes it over with a lopsided grin and flips his guitar aside to clap politely as I take center stage, pulling Grace along with me.
Not so much as a beer bottle clinking against the table can be heard as all eyes settle on us.
First, I ask them to give the band a big Dallas hand.
They applaud generously. No surprise. They’re being plenty generous to me, too.
When it quiets down, I look out over the crowd, a group of hard-working folks that truly are the heart of this nation.
Farmers and oilmen still smudged up in their clothes, hardworking office women giddy with time off, a couple police officers in their uniforms drinking beers, though I don’t see Drake or Sheriff Wallace with them.
Dallas has a pulse. This little town looks out for everybody in it. The very thing I always heard my Army buddies talking about when they’d get homesick.
They’d been jealous of me, of course, and told me point-blank when they found out who I really was. I’d pretended my life was amazing, never letting on how I’d envied them.
All for this sense of home.
“Hi, ladies and gents. I have a big announcement,” I say into the mic, and for the first time in my life, I’m nervous. I’m speaking from the heart, my words rather than a script. “But first, I want to say thank you. I’d wager a few folks in the crowd knew who I was, even before the latest flap in the media came out. I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Ever since my arrival in Dallas, you’ve treated me like I’m just another neighbor. The new guy who bought that ranch on the land old Jonah Reed always swore was no good.”
A low rumble of laughs winds through the crowd. I knew mentioning North Earhart Oil’s founder would help win over any holdouts.
“It’s true. I’ll never laugh off winter again after spending entire weeks snowed in,” I say. “And I’m glad I did, so the next time I visit Southern California, I’ll have plenty of horror stories for the folks who freak if it dips below fifty degrees.”
I wait until more laughter dies.
“Seriously, though,