Her eyebrows lift. “Oh yeah? What is it?”
“You.” My lips fall against her cheek. I can’t keep looking in her eyes, it’s too much. Too much feeling, too much emotion, too much need. It reminds me of being at the beach, of standing in the ocean and watching a wave coming toward me. So much anticipation, overwhelming, frightening and exciting.
I kiss her cheek. Her jaw. The spot beside her ear. The constellation of freckles below her eye. “I’m drunk on you,” I whisper, my admission floating out, suspended in the cool evening air.
It’s the best I can do, the most I can give her right now. I can’t tell her I’m falling in love with her, because how can a manfallwhen he’s alreadythere?
Reluctantly, I step back from the open passenger door. Dakota clears her throat, flips open the visor mirror and checks her makeup, and winds her purse over her shoulder.
She takes my offered hand and steps from my truck. “Let’s do this.” She stomps her foot rhythmically and turns in a circle.
“Are you about to show me up?”
She laughs, and I slip my arm around her waist as we walk in. The floor in The Chute is a deep-red brick, the walls covered in aging wooden planks and vintage signs. Country music pours from speakers, and a band sets up on a small stage off to the side. There are a dozen tables set up, but the main attraction is the bar. It’s a giant rectangle, one half inside and the other half open to the outside. Beyond that is the arena. I checked their website before deciding to listen to Warner, and tonight is amateur bull-riding night.
Dakota and I head for the bar. We order a drink, then settle at the last open table. Warner wasn’t kidding when he said this is the place to be on a Friday night. The band finishes setting up, the music from the speaker stops, and the lead singer steps up to the microphone. He wears a plaid shirt and jeans, and his generous middle hangs over his shiny belt buckle.
“Good to see you beautiful people again. And you ugly ones, too.” He laughs and winks, ducking his chin in a nod. “Me and the boys are gonna give you all something to listen to while you drink away your shitty week. Bull riding starts in an hour, so eat, drink, and don’t get too merry because nobody likes a sloppy drunk.”
Dakota laughs and scoots her chair closer to me. She leans into my side and I lay my arm over her shoulders. The band starts with something upbeat, and Dakota’s foot is tapping. Soon her shoulders are moving, just these micro-movements, but they’re in time to the music.
I’d ask her to dance, but I can’t dance for shit.
Fucking Warner. How did I let that asshole convince me this was a good idea?
A server stops by, we order another round and two pulled pork sandwiches. Dakota smiles at me, her shoulders still shaking, and she looks radiant and happy.
“Wes?”
Wyatt’s surprised voice interrupts my staring at Dakota.
“Hey, Wyatt.”
Wyatt sinks down in the empty chair at our table. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he says. “Weird to see you anywhere that’s not the ranch.”
I look at him from the sides of my eyes but let the comment pass. The server drops off our drinks and Wyatt orders a beer.
“Do you dance, Dakota?” Wyatt looks pointedly at me, as if I’m a broke dick who doesn’t have a clue that his girl is sitting beside him basically dancing in her seat.
She smiles up at me but answers Wyatt. “I know my way around a dance floor.”
“How convenient, because I do too.” Wyatt takes my beer and drinks half. Briefly I consider tackling him the way I used to when we were younger.
I take my beer out of his hand. “How the fuck do you know how to dance?”
He shrugs. “Mom taught me.”
“When?”
“Sometime during the twelve years you were gone, Wes.”
My thumb runs the length of my lower lip and I look away. I leave to serve my country and I have to come back to a little brother who’s had his precious feelings hurt? Defensiveness is my primary response, but deep down inside me, there’s a twinge of guilt for hurting him.
“Dakota, do you want to dance?” Wyatt asks.
I look over at Dakota. She’s looking at me, gauging my reaction. I kiss her forehead, letting her know it’s fine with me. I’m certainly not going to be out there dancing, not to any fast-paced songs anyway. I don’t want to hold her back.
Wyatt extends an open palm, and Dakota takes it. She quickly kisses me, then stands and winds her way through the tables to the dance floor. Now that people have had a chance to consume a drink or two, they’ve begun filtering onto it.
