I start to close the last half-inch of space between us, my pulse thundering, her breath warm against my mouth—
A microphone screeches. “And now for our very own Beau Saint John.”
Both of us jerk, heads snapping toward the stage just in time to see Beau sling a guitar over his shoulder as he walks toward the microphone, grinning like the cocky bastard he is.
This son of a bitch.
He taps the mic once. “Alright, folks, by request, we’re gonna slow it down a bit more. Hope y’all brought your dancin’ partners.”
I stare at him with the fire of a thousand burning suns.
But does he care? No. Of course, he doesn’t. Because he knows good and fucking well what he’s about to do. And as if I needed further proof, his grin grows so wide, I’m surprised those dimples don’t break his fucking face.
Abigail laughs breathlessly, pulling back a fraction, her fingers still fisted in my shirt, and I swear under my breath, shaking my head. “Oh, he’s really gonna be your favorite now, Red.”
Her eyes sparkle, and she shrugs her shoulders. “Have you seen what he looks like up there?”
“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” I mumble, and her laugh grows even louder, but her body stays pressed against mine. That is, until Beau strums the first chord and I feel two familiar figures come up behind me. Abigail’s eyes widen, and suddenly I’m not entirely turned off by what’s about to happen.
Chapter twenty-six
Abigail
Thelightsdimafraction as Beau leans into the mic, the guitar settled low against his hips, as if it belongs there. The first chord rings out, rich and smooth, and when he starts to sing—
Oh.
Oh, wow.
“Nothing on You” by Cody Johnson pours out of him like it’s written into his bones. His voice is raspy and warm, the kind that comes so effortlessly you don’t know where it’s been hidden this whole time. It rolls through the room, wraps around my chest, and sinks straight into places I didn’t know music could reach.
I’m lost in it.
I forget where I am for a second. Forget whose arms I’m in. Forget everything except the way Beau looks under the stage lights. So confident. So relaxed. So damn devastating.
Jasper chuckles low near my ear. “Knew it,” he murmurs. “Told you he’d be your new favorite.”
He’s not my favorite, none of them are. But seeing him like this could be my undoing. “He’s… really good.”
“Yeah,” Jasper says, fond and a little smug. “Good’s one word for it.”
Before I can respond, the air around us changes.
I feel it before I see it.
Jasper’s posture shifts, subtle but deliberate, and when I glance at him, two familiar figures stand just behind him. Lincoln and Lawson. Jasper looks between them, something unspoken passing silently among the three of them.
And then, Lincoln is there.
He takes me without asking, smooth and unhurried, sliding into Jasper’s place like a choreographed dance. One hand settles at my waist, his thumb brushing the curve of my hip through my jeans.
My breath stutters as he holds me close.
“You okay?” he asks softly, green eyes searching mine.
“More than okay,” I admit breathlessly.
He smiles, slow and knowing. “Good.”
