I yelp, tugging my flannel over my head. “Oh my God, it’s pouring!”
He grins at me, completely unbothered, then grabs my hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“There. Merch tent. Run!”
We take off across the field, dodging puddles and people. I’m half-laughing, half-gasping, still holding my beer like it’s sacred. His hand is warm in mine. Strong. I don’t let go.
We duck beneath the tent just in time, breathless and soaked. Rain drums hard above us, a frantic rhythm that makes my pulse trip.
I swipe wet hair from my face, still catching my breath. “Well. This is cinematic.”
He looks at me then, and his face spreads into an oh-so-slight grin.
“Ketchup on my face again?” I wonder out loud.
“No. You just have really beautiful eyes.”
My cheeks heat red.
And he adds, “This might sound stupid and silly, but hell. I admit it. I feel like the universe wants us to hang out tonight. I don’t really care what happens. But I’m glad I met you. You made my night.”
My heart flutters. Damn him.
I open my mouth. Then close it again.
Finally, I take a small step closer.
“I’m not really in the market for a new man,” I say quietly. “That hasn’t changed.”
He nods. “Hey, I get it. Been there.”
“Glad you understand. So don’t take it personally that we’ll never see each other again.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I won’t.”
“Good.”
“But can I say one thing?”
“Of course. What?”
I admit his rain-soaked stubble looks good as he says, “Sometimes you find the damndest things when you’re not looking.”
I reach up and brush a drop of rain from his jaw. My fingers linger longer than they should.
“I can’t do emotional connections. I’m messed up right now, anyway. Anything serious would be…”
“Serious? Honey, we’re at a country concert, making out in the rain. You haven’t even asked my name yet,” he laughs. “And you’re talking about serious. You reallyhavebeen out of the game, haven’t you?”
Something coils inside me. “Well, I alwayshavewanted to spend the night with a sexy stranger.”
He bites his lower lip. “So, you’re saying you don’t even want to know my name?”
I arch a brow. “Fine. What is it?”
“Logan,” he says, voice low and warm. “You?”
