It hit me, like a punch to the face, that she was here with me. This beautiful girl with a spine of steel and a survivor’s spirit was sitting across from me, looking into my eyes, smiling.
She’d borrowed my middle name, taken it with her when she’d left. Truth was, she’d taken more than that. She’d taken a piece of me. But instead of wishing for it back, all I wanted was to give her the rest.
Suddenly all those old country love songs I’d played so often made perfect sense.
“Did that teenage daydream of yours happen to involve dancing?” I asked.
Her eyes lit up. “You dance?”
“I’m a man, ain’t I?” I said, almost offended that she was surprised. “Every Bootleg man worth his salt knows how to dance.”
I took her hand and led her to the open space we used as a dance floor. June and George were still there. Bowie and Cass had joined them. I slipped a hand around Callie’s waist, to the small of her back, and pulled her close.
Truth be told, my dancing skills were probably a bit rusty—I rarely used them—but for a slow song, it didn’t matter. I knew how to lead, and that was the important part. And simply having Callie next to me—the excuse to touch her—was enough.
The slow song ended, and it rolled into a new one. “Meant to Be.” It was a little more upbeat, and too new for us to have ever played it together before. But I knew the words, and I was feeling it in my bones, so I quietly sang along. Singing it just for her.
I wasn’t trying to make a show of it, but Callie lit up. She smiled and danced with me while I sang to her. So I turned it up a little. Sang a bit louder.
The song was a duet, and Callie came in on the next verse, her voice full and clear. That special magic we had together filled the bar. We sang lyrics about love and taking a chance and letting it be. Seeing where things led, just like we’d said before. Sang it for each other while we danced.
Applause erupted at the end of the song, but neither of us acknowledged the crowd. Just looked into each other’s eyes, smiling. I was on some kind of high I’d never felt before and I didn’t want it to end.
The cheers died down, a new song taking their place. “Die A Happy Man.” It was whiskey-smooth with a slow beat. I pulled her in close and breathed in the scent of her hair. Felt her body pressed against mine. Felt those damn lyrics in my soul.
We moved slow and I leaned my forehead down to touch hers. The fabric of her dress felt thin beneath my hands, barely concealing the curves of her body. I touched her, running my hands over her, skimming the line of what was decent.
She tilted her chin up and I kissed her. Instead of meeting my kiss with softness, she ran her fingers through my hair and parted her lips. I delved into her mouth with my tongue, tasting a hint of apple pie moonshine. The desire I’d fought so hard at first came roaring to life. The music, the feel of her in my arms, and the taste of her lips made my blood run hot.
I was instantly hard for her and for half a second, I thought about shifting so she wouldn’t feel my erection through my jeans. But she pressed herself closer, rubbing up against me. And all I could think about were her words when we’d walked in.
I’m not a teenager anymore.
No, she was not. She was all woman. A woman who was currently driving me crazy on the dance floor.
I leaned in to speak low into her ear. “You’re doing somethin’ to me. You know that?”
“Maybe you should be doing something to me.”
“Honey, you have no idea how much I want to.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” She nipped my earlobe with her teeth. “Take me home.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed her hand and led her straight for the door.
We tumbled out into the quiet night, the air warm and still. She giggled, hanging on my arm as I led her to my truck.
“I didn’t finish my moonshine,” she said.
I knew she was teasing, but I spun her around and pushed her up against the side of my truck. Took