And it’s true. Dixon is nice. He’s handsome. He’s everything a girl like me should probably want. But there’s nothing there. No spark. No pull. I wish there were. I wish the same thrill shotthrough me when I saw him that I felt when I saw Waylon at that stupid ring-toss game.
What is wrong with me?
Waylon is like a wildfire, all heat and danger, threatening to burn everything around him to the ground, and I’m a moth, flying straight toward the flames. I know I should stay away from him.
I follow Charli toward the back, where the boys have clustered three standing tables into a little semicircle. Red cups cover every inch of the surfaces. Charli walks straight into Bryce’s arms, and he pulls her into him instantly. Cabe starts handing out drinks. Harleigh returns with a tall blond cowboy in tow.
“This is Kevin,” she announces.
Cabe hands him a cup and welcomes him like he’s known him for years.
Dixon drifts closer to me as he starts talking to Axle about some upcoming rodeo in Topeka. His arm settles around my waist, his hand warm and light against my hip.
And that’s when I know for sure.
Instead of my body leaning into him, instead of me enjoying the touch, every instinct in me wants to pull away.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me. I’m just going to step out to the restroom.”
“You want me to walk you?” he asks.
“No, I’ll be right back,” I promise.
He smiles and lets me go, turning back to his conversation without missing a beat.
Maybe I’m being ridiculous. We haven’t even been on a real date. I’m writing him off for nothing.
I weave through the crowd, moving slowly, watching couples pair off as Wildhaven Junction slides into a slow song. Bryce pulls Charli onto the dance floor and tugs her right into his chest.She wraps her arms around his neck, and he buries his face in her hair, his hand firm at her back. Loving. Protective.
An ache blooms in my chest. I want that. I want to be held like that, like I’m someone’s whole world for three and a half minutes of sweet, romantic chords.
I stop at the edge of the dance floor and close my eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me.
“Hey, Stormy.” His voice is low and close, vibrating right through me.
I open my eyes.
Waylon is there, like I actually did conjure him out of thin air. He’s close enough that I can see the little crease at the corner of his mouth when he smiles.
“Hey,” I say, breathless in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
“You deep in thought?” he murmurs.
“Just lost in the music,” I say. “I thought you’d left?”
“Change of plans,” he says, glancing toward the tables. “You with Dixon tonight?”
“Not really.”
He quirks a brow.
“I didn’t know he was coming tonight. He was already here when we arrived.”
The song swells around us, soft and aching.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks.
I should say no. I know I should. But my body is already stepping into him.
