Not the best Fourth ever? I shook off the thought. Today might’ve been an encore of a facade, but I’d use it as a very real example of how good being with a guy could be.
He wove through town to the darker outskirts of Bourbon Canyon. Soon, we lumbered down roads lit only by headlights and the partially obscured moon above us.
The faint yard light outside his cabin came into view. Shadows of trees behind the house and shop gave the view dimension. The peak of the house blended with the piney tops of the trees.
“Your place is even gorgeous at night,” I said, grateful I got one more night here. Pleased I had another sleepover with Tenor and his closed-off heart. So pleased and so grateful—for one more night.
“Yeah. It’s my own retreat.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “For those nights when I don’t have a date to the street dance.”
“Well, anytime. I’m your girl.” I rolled my lips in. I hadn’t meant to sound like I was throwing myself at his feet.
He wasn’t replying. Or making light of it. His profile was hard in the glare of the dash lights. Was there something I could say to cut through the discomfort growing between us?
“I learned how to line dance,” I prattled on. “Didn’t think that would ever happen. Now I can cruise all over Bozeman and jump in line at all the bars.”
His eyes narrowed and he adjusted his glasses, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Yeah. A good skill to have.”
“I mean, you can make bourbon and sell it for enough profit to keep how many employees afloat? And I can do the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
He chuckled. “You never know when it’ll come in handy.”
“I might surprise myself.”
He parked in the garage. Longing hit me at the sight of my car beside his blue pickup.
Don’t succumb to wishful thinking, Ruby.
Inside, he toed out of his boots. I slipped out of my shoes and groaned. “I think my toes are going to hate me in the morning.” I bent to rub a foot. “Is that the real reason you all wear cowboy boots? A bigger toe box for dancing?”
“That might be a selling point.”
I grinned. “I can’t shut my marketing brain off.”
He scratched behind his neck and wandered through the kitchen. Usually when I came over after my shift on Friday nights, we ate together. Cleaned up his kitchen while chatting. Then we moseyed off to bed. Except for that one night I’d gotten drunk and dove between his sheets.
Yeah, I’d like to relive that. His deep voice whispering naughty things to me in the dark...
Heat flushed through my vessels and coalesced between my legs. I hadn’t drunk much more than two beers tonight. The warmth was arousal. Desire. I wanted Tenor in a very real way. Nothing was fake about how my body reacted around him.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll give you a foot rub.”
I was caught between wanting to swan dive onto the cushions and being frozen with mortification. “You want to rub my sweaty feet?”
Despite the possibility of my stinky dogs, hope started to rise. What if he wasn’t tripping over himself, but tiptoeing? He was cautious, and Tenor wasn’t a guy who’d make the same mistake twice.
“If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I put my face close to abscessed hooves all the time.”
“Ew. Is that as gross as it sounds?”
“Can be. Now sit.”
My body reacted before my mind could. I padded across the floor and dropped in the corner of the couch. He sat in the middle and lifted my legs onto his lap.
A guy who wasn’t interested wouldn’t rub my feet. Guys whohadbeen interested hadn’t given me a massage of any sort.
He traced a finger over the tips of my summery-red-painted toes. “The color matches your name.”
“It’s my favorite.”
