Wes would kill me if he knew where my mind had been all day, which is why I’m here trying to think about any woman other than the one who had so quickly taken over every passing thought.
The bar’s loud, pulsing with laughter and music as I slide onto a stool. Paula greets me with a smile.
“What can I get for ya, Tripp?” she asks.
“Beer. Start me a tab.”
I’m reaching for my wallet when a loud whoop cuts through the music. I glance over—and damn if it isn’t Quinn—here to wreck what little sanity I have left. Hands in the air, hips shaking, hair flying loose as she spins like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I can’t escape her. She’s everywhere I turn.
Something heavy drops into the pit of my stomach when I see who she’s dancing with.
Kyle Jensen.
The guy is a womanizing piece of shit, and he doesn’t take no for an answer, especially when he’s been drinking.
Paula slides me my beer. “She came in a couple hours ago.”
“Alone?”
She shakes her head. “Kyle brought her.”
I take a deep pull from the bottle and lean back, resting my elbows on the bar while I watch Quinn and Kyle dance. The beer tastes sour on mytongue, and I’d like nothing more than to stomp off so I don’t have to see this. But someone has to keep an eye on her.
“She said Pops is in the nursing home?” Paula questions.
“Uh, yeah," I say, tearing my gaze away from Quinn. "They wanted to make sure he got a bit stronger before they let him come back home. You can guess how he took that.”
“Like a bear whose fish got stolen from its paws, I imagine.”
“Exactly.”
Lilah Hart sidles up next to me and rests her elbows on the bar.
“Hey, Tripp," she says, eyes twinkling. "You wanna dance?”
She’s cute—big brown eyes, jeans hugging her curves—but ten years younger and brimming with confidence. And right now, I’m still aching from seeing Quinn in those damn shorts this morning.
A little dancing with a girl who isn’t totally off-limits might be a good idea. I can still keep an eye on Quinn with Lilah on my arm.
I force a smile. “Sure, let’s dance.”
She slips her hand into mine and pulls me to the dance floor, the two of us sliding into the line right as the next upbeat song starts up, the beat blaring from the speakers. I fall into the rhythm quickly, muscle memory taking over.
My parents used to love dancing at these types of things. They’d always head straight for the floor, dragging me and Allie out with them to teach us the grapevine. It was one of those simple things we always took for granted.
When ALS took away my dad’s ability to dance, he’d still urge me to drag Mom out there. Said he liked watching her face light up when she laughed.
My throat goes a little tight at the memory, but I nail the first spin and throw a little extra flair on the hip pivot, making Lilah’s brows shoot up.
“Well, damn,” she laughs, eyes going wide. “You’re gonna make my dancing look bad if you keep that up, Tripp.”
“Nah. I couldn’t make you look bad if I tried,” I say, shooting her a wink before I even realize what I’m doing.
Her smile widens. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might think you’re flirting.”
I let out a low chuckle. “Might be.”
