Over and over, I go through the steps, politely smiling to the new woman who blushes or bats her lashes at me.
I really do hate Mary Lou right now.
It goes on for much longer than three minutes, and then, standing in front of me, is Lark.
I watch as her eyes register my face and she clears her throat.
My hand is extended, and she places hers in mine.
We move together, neither of us looking at the other. I can feel others’ gazes, watching to see whether we’ll do anything, but her brothers are here, and it would take next to nothing to start a fight. So I keep my eyes forward and try not to think about how warm her hand is, how when she moves in to bump my hip, I get a hint of roses from her hair. How, for the last thirty seconds, having her hand in mine has felt like coming up for air after drowning.
No, I don’t think about that.
I don’t look at her.
But as soon as I spin her and she moves to the next man, I feel her loss, and I fucking hate myself for it.
Chapter 8
Lark
Do not panic.
Do not look back.
Just breathe, Lark.
I repeat that over and over as I keep moving through the next two cowboys until the song finally ends.
Suzanne rushes over, grabbing my hands in hers. “Oh my God, you had to dance with Tristan!” she freaking yells. Seriously, like the entire bar could hear.
“Shut up,” I whisper. “I’m aware.”
“Was it horrible? I bet it was.” She lifts my hands up.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if the Devil burned you. Somehow you guys survived helping at the store, but this was adance!”
I roll my eyes. “Stop it. You’re as bad as my brothers. It was a barn dance that I had no control over. Relax.”
She laughs. “Speaking of your brothers…”
Ryan and Deacon walk over, both looking furious. “You danced withhim?”
Dear God. One would think they’d tire of this shit. “I didn’t know you both watch me so much.”
“We do.”
“Lucky me.”
Deacon snorts. “You’re damn right you’re lucky, Lark. You should’ve skipped him.”
“Let’s just grow up for a minute, please.”
Skip him. Please, the last thing I wanted to do was skip him. I wanted to scream at him to look at me. To take me in his arms and kiss me. To get us out of here and do much more.
Which was the tequila talking, and thankfully it was all in my head and not out loud.
