“Right, okay. Clean,” he drawls, his eyes dancing.
“What’s so weird? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like I was thinking any dirty thoughts.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I should definitely not have said them.
He puts his palms up. “You just keep digging yourself a hole, here. I’m trying to keep it classy, and you tell me you’renothaving dirty thoughts. Well, I definitely am, now. Thanks to you.”
“Can we just pretend I didn’t say that?” I exhale hard through my nose. “No flirting. No…anything that leads to getting dirty.”
His lips curve into a grin that could melt asphalt. “So youarehaving dirty thoughts already? I mean, I usually don’t move that fast. Even for a stunner like yourself.”
My entire face catches fire.
“Enjoy the concert,” I blurt, mortified, and turn away before he can respond. “I have to go find my friends.”
I walk fast, heart thundering, brain screaming.
God. Why did I say that?
Getting dirty?Really, Cassie?
I need a time machine. Or a brain replacement. Or maybe just another beer. From adifferentbeer stand. Not this one.
My flirting is so rusty, all it took was one—albeit an extremely handsome—man to jam my system.
I head to a different beer stand on the far side of the field, trying to outrun the embarrassment still burning my skin.
This one’s quieter. Shadier. Safer, I tell myself.
Until he shows up.
It’s not the cowboy this time.It’s a different guy.
Wasted. Stumbling. Loud. The kind of guy who thinks shouting is flirting and touching is his right.
He’s yelling at the security guards, trying to start something. They ignore him. I don’t. I try to shrink back, eyes glued to the tap list.
“Hey, hot stuff,” he slurs, wobbling over. “Lemme buy you a drink. Or maybe just take you home and skip the middleman.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I mutter, stepping away.
He follows me, close on my heels. Too close.
Then his hand brushes my hip.
I jerk away. “Hey. Don’t touch me.”
He laughs. “Relax, sweetheart.”
“No,” I snap. “Seriously. Don’t.”
He reaches again, fingers grazing my side, and I scream.
Not dramatic. Not even that loud. Just sharp, primal, and immediate.
Next thing I know, he’s on the ground.
Someone clocked him,hard.
