“Doesn’t look harmless to me,” I muttered, watching him spin her. He looked confident. He looked like he belonged here. He looked like he fit in a way I was still fighting to prove I did.
Cassie smirked. “That’s because you’re jealous and stupid. Here’s the thing—Tyler’s baseline boring. Safe. Predictable. But you? You’re the one she keeps looking back at.” She tapped her beer bottle against mine. “So maybe don’t go all caveman. When the song ends, go claim your dance like you’ve got a right to it.”
The song stretched on. Tyler leaned in, murmuring something that made Winnie shake her head with a smile. When the music finally started to fade, he didn’t let go right away. He pulled her closer—
That’s when I moved.
I crossed the dance floor in five strides and put a firm hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”
He turned, startled, then his face shifted to amusement. “Oh hey, Beau right? The Dallas guy.” He extended his hand. “Tyler.”
I shook it, keeping my grip firm. My eyes said what my mouth wouldn’t: Back off.
He held the grip for a second, then smiled and released. “No worries, man. Just keeping her company.” He nodded at Winnie. “Win, catch you around? If that north forty fence needs work, call me.”
“Will do,” she said, but her attention had already shifted to me.
I pulled her back into the rhythm, holding her closer than before—not possessive, but clear. My hand settled on the small of her back with intention.
“You’re jealous,” she said softly, amusement threading through her voice.
“Not jealous,” I lied, jaw tight. “Just… reclaiming my spot.”
“Your spot?” She tilted her head, eyes bright with something I couldn’t quite read. “Pretty confident about that.”
“Yeah.” I held her gaze, letting her see everything I felt. “I am.”
She didn’t pull away. Her hand found the back of my neck like it belonged there. And for the rest of the night, every time Tyler glanced over from the bar, I made sure he saw exactly who she was with.
WINNIE
Handsy and complimentary
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
23H00
"What the Lord has blessed, let no man put asunder." – Unknown (But Tonight, We're Testing It)
***
The bar had dissolved into a haze of neon lights and body heat. The band had packed up twenty minutes ago, leaving the jukebox to croon out low, twangy ballads that made the air feel thick and sticky with secrets.
I had lost count of my drinks somewhere around the third tequila shot Cassie had slid across the wood with a wink. Now, the floor was doing a slow, rolling tilt beneath my boots, like I was standing on the deck of a ship in a gentle storm. I knew I was a lightweight but then again, I kind of exaggerated.
Beau was the anchor. His arm was a heavy, solid band around my waist, keeping me upright as he steered us through the thinning crowd. He smelled incredible—like expensive whiskey, cedar, and the clean sweat of a man who’d spent the night marking his territory on the dance floor.
“Winnie,” he murmured, his mouth close enough that his breath ghosted over my ear. “On a scale of one to ten, how much is the room spinning right now?”
I squinted up at him. His face was a little blurry, but the important parts were there: the sharp jawline, the blue eyes darkened by the dim light, the mouth that I had spent the last hour staring at.
“Define ‘spinning,’” I slurred, poking a finger into the center of his chest. It was hard. Like, rock hard. I poked it again for science. “If one is ‘solid ground’ and ten is ‘tornado,’ I’m at a solid… eight. Maybe an eight-point-five. But a fun eight-point-five.”
He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated straight through his ribs and into my fingertips. “A fun eight-point-five. Right. You were doing interpretive dance moves during that last song. I think you tried to dip me.”
“I was leading!” I protested, leaning into him because standing up straight was becoming a chore. “You’re just… you’re very tall. It’s a logistical issue.”
“It’s a gravity issue.” His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me flush against his side. “Come on, tornado. Let’s get you home before you challenge the pool table to a fight.”
