He dances like he does everything—steady, deliberate, grounding. Being held by Lincoln feels like standing in the eye of a storm. Safe. Strong. Like nothing bad can touch me as long as I’m right here. Lincoln spins me out, but instead of pulling me back in, he lets go of my hand, and Lawson’s takes its place.
He takes my hand with quiet confidence, pulling me closer until my boots brush his, his palm warm on my back, his other hand lifting my chin just enough to bring my gaze to his. When I look up, his eyes drop to my mouth for half a second before snapping back to mine, and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to run my hand through the hair along his jaw.
“You’re havin’ fun,” he says. It’s not a question.
“Yes,” I breathe. “So much.
Beau’s voice fills the bar as Lawson’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “Good. You deserve it, Honey.”
The way he says it—like my happiness is a given and not a question—makes my chest tighten.
By the time Jasper’s arms wrap around me again, my entire body feels flushed. The room feels hotter. Louder. Electric.
My skin hums where each of them has touched me, like they’ve left imprints on my skin. Jasper’s hand settleslowon my back, and I can feel the tips of his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans as Beau sings the last verse. I lean into Jasper, savoring every second of the way his body fits against mine.
The way each of them fits against me.
None of them pulled away.
None of them hesitated.
And something clicks into place with startling clarity.
They don’t mind.
Even here. Even now. Even knowing exactly what the other is doing.
They wantme.
Beau’s song ends to a thunderous applause, and a beat later, he’s off stage, weaving through the crowd, straight toward me. He’s flushed, breathless, and grinning like he knows exactly what kind of damage he’s just inflicted.
Without warning, he reaches for me, spinning me once, twice, three times until my laughter bubbles up and the world blurs.
“Well?” he asks, as I crash gently against his chest, his hands on my waist. “What’d you think?”
I’m dizzy. Drunk on the moment. Warm all the way through. “That was… incredible, Beau.”
His eyes light up. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” I say again, breathless now for an entirely different reason as he reaches up and plays with the end of a lock of hair.
He leans in just enough to lower his voice. “Ready for another drink?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Please.”
Something flashes in his expression at the wordplease.“C’mon, Darlin’.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Abigail
Thetruckfeelssmalleron the drive back. Like the air itself is wound tight, stretched thin between laughter that’s a little too loud and silences that buzz with anticipation.
I’m wedged into the back seat between Jasper and Beau, my thighs pressed against the denim of their jeans every time the truck hits a bump in the road. Neither of them moves away, though. If anything, they shift closer, Jasper’s arm stretched across the back of the seat, fingertips grazing my shoulder, and Beau’s hand innocently resting right above my knee.
Beau’s knee bounces restlessly, his boot tapping against the floorboard in time with the song on the radio. Lincoln’s riding shotgun, forearm resting on the center console with his brother in the driver’s seat across from him.
“So,” Beau says, breaking the silence. “I’m thinkin’ we make Friday nights a regular thing.”
