"Twenty-three! Twenty-two!"
"Holy shit," Jake breathed. "Is that—?"
"Flannel guy," I finished, my voice pitched high like I'd been breathing helium.
Rhett's eyes found mine across the room, and I swore I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my wrist. He smiled—not the polite kind, but something warmer, deliberate—and started walking toward our table.
The noise around us was building to a crescendo. Rhett moved through the crowd like it wasn't even there, focused and deliberate.
"Twelve! Eleven!"
He stopped right in front of our table, close enough to smell that cedar-and-soap scent again. Close enough to notice that he looked nervous.
Which made two of us.
"Dance?" he asked.
My heart nearly flatlined.
He didn't make a scene, didn't crack a joke. Just one word, and it showed more courage than all my noise.
"HOLY SHIT!" Jake shouted. "HE'S HERE! FLANNEL GUY IS HERE!"
"GET IT, HOG!" Pickle screeched.
"Eight! Seven!"
I looked at Rhett, who was still holding out his hand. Something in his expression—patient but hopeful—decided for me.
I took his hand.
The Storm table erupted. Jake whooped, Evan raised his beer in what might have been a toast. Even Coach Rusk looked amused, which probably meant the apocalypse was near.
"Four! Three!"
Rhett pulled me toward the small space near the jukebox that passed for a dance floor.
"Two! One!"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
The bar exploded in noise—cheers and whistles, but I barely heard any of it. Rhett was looking at me like I was the only person in the room, and then his hand was on my face, and then—
He kissed me.
Not the kind of kiss you gave someone at midnight because tradition demanded it. Not the type of kiss that was more about performance than feeling. It was deliberate, warm, gentle, and confident.
My hands, which were usually either fists or giving bone-crushing hugs, just... held on. One on his shoulder and one tangled in the soft material of his shirt, anchoring myself to something steady.
When we broke apart—and I couldn't tell you if it were after five seconds or five minutes—the first thing I noticed was thatthe bar noise had faded to a dull roar. The second thing I noticed was that Rhett was smiling, and it made my knees wobble.
"Holy shit," I whispered, and immediately wanted to kick myself for being as eloquent as a brick.
Rhett's smile was electric. "Happy New Year, Hog."
"THAT'S OUR BOY!" Jake shouted from the Storm table.
"Smooth, kid," Coach Rusk called out, which might have been the first compliment he'd ever given me in public.
