“There’s an event tonight that I’m going to,” Seth says. “At Whiskey Thunder.”
“Whatever Whiskey Thunder is, it sounds amazing,” Sierra sighs. “But I would prefer to hide out still.”
“It’s in Winslow,” I say, naming a town well over an hour north of Sagebrush.
“Oh,” says Sierra, her face lighting up. “That sounds promising.”
I hesitate. “You and Seth can go,” I say finally, though it pains me.
“No way!” cries Sierra. “Surely, you’re dying to do something else, Logan. There’s more to life than spreadsheets, lists,and stress.”
I look down at my half-completed checklist. “Well…”
“I will badger you until you say yes,” says Sierra. “And you know how good I am at badgering—I turned it into an Olympic sport. I won gold in Paris.” She holds up her fists like she is ready to fight.
I fight the affection that fills me at her determined expression.
Still, I hesitate.
“Come on, Logan. Last chance before the badgering commences.”
I sigh. “Do you have cowboy boots?”
“You wouldn’t think so, but I actually do!” she says excitedly. “They’re more practical than cute, but they’ll work. I got them secondhand to pop on when it’s muddy or raining. Let me shower first, then we’ll go.”
When she comes back out after her shower, I hate myself a little for giving in so easily. She’s wearing a mini skirt, a fitted tank top, and well-worn cowboy boots. A touch of makeup highlights all the features I can’t seem to stop thinking about—her huge dark eyes, her plush, Cupid’s bow lips. Her hair is down and slightly curly, brushing over her breasts when she moves in a way that makes my fingers itch with jealousy.
Jealous of hair? Shit, I need to get a grip.
I cast an irritated look at Seth. This is his fault. It pacifies me a little to see that he looks like he regrets suggesting it when he notices my reaction to Sierra.
The drive to Whiskey Thunder isn’t long. The place is packed, the air thick with sweat, beer, and pheromones. Neon signs glow against dark wood walls, while cowboy boots stomp and slide across the dance floor to a rousing countrysong.
Sierra heads straight for the bar. Seth waves at someone he knows. At first, Seth tries to get me to come with him but finally gives up when I refuse. Instead, I follow Sierra across the slightly sticky floor, watching her lean forward to flag down the bartender, the hem of her skirt lifting.
“You want anything?” she shouts to me.
“A whiskey.” I reach over her arm to hand the bartender my credit card when she tries to pay.
She smiles and wags a finger. “This is off the clock!” she cries. “But thanks.”
She wiggles her ass to the music in that tiny skirt, sipping her drink. She watches the dancers. I watch her.
Then she downs her whiskey, surveys the floor, and turns to me. “Listen, Logan. Do you mind moving away?”
“Moving away?”
“I wanna dance. No one will ask me if you’re looming over me like a jealous boyfriend.” She gestures toward a handful of men nearby, who instantly avert their gazes when they meet mine.
Iamacting like a jealous boyfriend. But the jealousy only grows at the thought of any man here putting his hands on her.
“You hate dancing,” I protest. “We skipped homecoming and prom, for chrissakes.”
Sierra shrugs. “I told you that because I couldn’t afford a dress—and because even mentioning dancing made you break out in hives.”
She waves away my protests that I never once broke out in hives.
“Anyway, I’ve grown to appreciate dancing,” she says. “It’sa great way to meet people. I think everyone should learn. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to get to know those girls over there,” she says, nodding toward a cluster of scantily dressed blondes at the end of the bar.
