Her fingers lightly graze my forearm, and my entire body comes alive. Just one touch is all it takes. I wantmore.More of her touch on my skin. Her body against mine. My mouth on hers. I. Want. More.
And all she had to do was touch my fucking arm.
But I can’t say any of that right now. Instead, I say roughly, “We wanted somethin’ that reminded us of who we are. That she’ll always be there for me and I for her. No matter how far apart. No matter what happens. The two of us have each other. Our past be damned.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s something warm there. Something deep.
Then the music shifts to a cover of “Choosin’ Texas” by Ella Langley, and the dance floor slows as couples start to two-step around the room.
Abbie glances toward it, trying to hide how her face lights up, and I stand without a second thought and hold out my hand. “C’Mon, Abbie Girl. Dance with me.”
Her breath catches, and she nods. “Okay.”
Threading my fingers with hers, I lead her through the crowd. Her hand is small in mine, but it’s warm. Trusting. And the second I pull her against me, something in me damn near snaps.
She fits. She fits so fucking perfectly. Like she was made for this exact space—here, pressed against my chest, her hip aligned with mine, her head lifting to look at me through those damn lashes.
Christ.
Resting one hand low on her back, I spread my fingers over the small dip in her spine, and a small shiver works through her. She knows she does it, too, because her eyes look down at the floor for just a moment.
I smirk. “Cold?”
She shakes her head. “Not even a little.”
Her other hand settles on my shoulder, fingers curling, gripping me like she’s afraid the moment will disappear before she’s had a chance to enjoy it. And the feeling of her holding me so tightly shoots straight down my spine.
We start to move around the room, slow and steady, as I keep us in time with the music. But this isn’t about dancing at all. It’s about touch. It’s about tension. It’s about everything we’re not saying that’s hanging heavy in the space between our mouths.
“You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” she murmurs.
“Tryin’ not to do anything stupid,” I admit.
Her eyelashes flutter. “Like what?”
“Like kiss you right here in front of the whole damn town.”
Her breath stutters, and her fingers slide from my shoulder to the front of my shirt as she grips it between her fingers. “Jasper…”
“You think I don’t see how you’re lookin’ at me,” I ask. “You think I didn’t feel what I know you felt when you touched me?”
Her eyes shine at the recollection of the feeling, but she doesn’t admit it. She doesn’t deny it either. Instead, she steps closer, her breasts brushing my chest, her thigh sliding between mine.
My body responds instantly, like it’s been waiting for this exact moment since we almost kissed all those weeks ago. I lean in, forehead almost touching hers. “You’re killin’ me, Red.”
She swallows hard. “Then… maybe you should just kiss me already.”
Fuck.
Those six words might actually end me. Right here in the middle of The Busted goddamn Barrel.
But just like I said before, if I’m gonna die, what better way to go out than something that makes me feel likethis.So I lift a hand to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut, and her lips part ever so slightly—an invitation I’ve been starving for.
“This is what you want?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Say it.”
“I want you to kiss me, Jasper,” she whispers back.
That’s it. That’s all I need.
