Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
SWEATING LIKE A NUN IN A CUCUMBER PATCH
Dallas
Everything’s okay. We’re okay.
As long as Shelby’s not mad at me, I know everything’s fine in the world.
The woman can’t fake a smile through three whole songs.
She’s officially not mad at me anymore, I’m sure of it.
She spins around and shimmies to the final chorus of some song I’m not even really listening to.
I have to physically drag my gaze away from her backside, all luscious curves in those worn Levi’s.
I know I need to put on a show for the town to really sell this engagement story.
I know I should be gazing at her like a man who’s just put a ring on her finger, but goddamn, she’s driving me a little too crazy.
I’m finding it a little too easy to stare at her with my jaw dropped to the floor.
We’ve just worked up a legitimate sweat when the band slows everything down into a slow dance.
It’s perfect for the show we have to put on, but hell for the chaotic thoughts spinning around my skull.
Shelby turns to walk off the dance floor, her gaze on the table where her friends—and my sisters—have various knowing grins on their faces.
Without giving it too much thought, I reach out and snatch Shelby’s hand, her oversized turquoise ring digging into my palm.
The woman is obsessed with turquoise, just like her momma was.
“Dance with me, Sweetness.”
I give her hand a tug, and as she’s stumbling closer to me, I wrap my arm around her waist, leaning in so that my lips skate across her ear. “Engaged lovers would absolutely dance to ‘Strip It Down.’ Luke Bryan makes all the girls swoon, am I right?”
Shelby’s body relaxes, though it takes her several long seconds to slide her hands up my arms, across my shoulders, and behind my neck.
I’m hyper focused on every inch of my body that’s touching hers.
I mean, Shelby’s always given good hugs, but this feels different.
Very different. I’ve got her curves under my hands, and as we begin to sway to the music, my dick forgets who we’re pressed against and just enjoys the friction.
I try to put a little distance between our hips, but it’s a bit difficult on the packed dance floor.
Goddamn. Why don’t they crank the air conditioning when they have a live band? The temperature in here is higher than a giraffe’s ass.
“You okay, Dally?” Shelby purrs.
I look down to see her head tilted back, hair tickling my arm, and her eyebrow lifted in challenge.
I’m quick to tell her I’m fine, but I think we both know that’s not true when I look away too soon.
It’s discombobulating as hell to feel so out of control.
I’m usually the one to flirt like an alley cat in heat.
The one to drop a line and see where it takes me.
Except with Shelby, my lines won’t work.
And they shouldn’t work! She’s my best friend, for crap’s sake.
She starts to shake in my arms. At first, I think she’s crying, but when I look back down at her in alarm, her pretty lips are curved upward, and I realize she’s laughing at me.
And I don’t like being laughed at when I haven’t cracked a joke.
Time to wrestle some control back and act like goddamn Dallas Gamble. Women don’t fluster me.
I dip my head and run my nose along her neck, stopping at her earlobe where I nuzzle the little flap of skin between my teeth.
I feel her gasp, which makes me grin like an idiot.
I let her earlobe slip from my teeth so my lips can explore her neck.
She tastes like peaches and salt, a combination I didn’t know I’d like so much until this exact moment.
“What the fuck, Dallas?” Shelby hisses, quiet enough I’m sure only I can hear her.
Luke’s crooning away about stripping it down, and suddenly I’m thinking that sounds like a very good idea.
I’d like to strip Shelby down. Get to the bottom of things between us.
See if maybe being married for real might not be so bad.
I think Shelby’s funny as hell. Loyal. Caring.
A high achiever. Great with my son. Hot as hell too, though I know she doesn’t think so. I could do a lot worse, you know?
I pull away from her neck, not because I want to quite yet, and not because Shelby’s gone stiff in my arms, but because Luke’s got me thinking things aren’t that complicated.
Not really. When you strip away all the expectations of everyone around us, I like Shelby.
I care for her with the same ferocity that I care for my family, my son.
And based on the way my jeans no longer fit me with Shelby’s curves all snug against me, maybe there could be a little passion in our marriage between friends.
So, like with all things in life, I take action and think about it later.
My hand leaves her waist long enough to push back a lock of her hair and to cup her cheek. Her eyes go as wide as a deer seeing headlights in the middle of the night. I can feel the flutter of her pulse, the flush of her cheeks, the little inhale of air she sucks between her glossy lips.
“Grab onto my shirt,” I practically grunt.
“Wh-why?” A little wrinkle forms between her eyebrows.
“’Cause I’m gonna kiss you, Sweetness, and your knees are liable to buckle.”
With that cocky declaration, I lean all the way down and capture her lips with mine.
I don’t go for a light peck or a whisper of a kiss, no ma’am.
I claim her lips like a man starving for the one woman in this county he never gave himself permission to taste.
Until now. Until everyone in this room is eyeing us.
Even though I know it’s all for show, I have the green light to kiss the ever-loving hell out of Shelby without repercussions, so I fucking go for it. I ain’t no half-asser.
Her gasp becomes my invitation to slide my tongue alongside hers.
To tickle her mouth and taste the beer she was drinking before I stole her away to the dance floor.
My arm goes tight as a bow around her waist, hauling her fully into my pelvis and letting her feel exactly what she does to me when she shakes that ass.
I’m not sure what day it is or where we even are, but the fireworks exploding inside my head nearly take all my attention away from the details I’m trying to memorize.
Like the way Shelby goes limp in my arms, every square inch of her pliant in my grasp.
Or the way her hands have fisted my shirt, probably wrinkling it so badly I’ll have to borrow Meemaw’s iron.
Or the thundering beat that might be her heart or mine.
There’s not enough room between us for me to tell whose it is.
She doesn’t respond at first, a problem I only notice in the back recesses of my brain. And then—holy fuck—she does respond. Her tongue duels with mine, and we’re both rabid, nearly climbing each other to get closer. To dominate. To get more.
The fireworks give way to wolf whistles and thoughts of dragging her out of here and throwing her in the back of my truck.
I swear I hold the county record on how fast a man can pull jeans off a woman, but this time I’d take my time.
Slow it down. Strip her down piece by piece, unveiling every creamy inch of skin I’ve never let myself touch.
“Jesus, get a room, would you?”
Frankie’s bellow interrupts the best kiss I’ve ever had, and I swear to all things holy, it takes every ounce of restraint I have—not that there’s much to begin with—to not snap her head off.
Frankie has always pushed my buttons in a way that makes me wish she was a boy so I could tackle her and not feel badly about it.
Shelby breaks away from me, her hand going to her mouth.
Her big blue eyes are blinking rapidly like she got something stuck in them.
The girls grab her and push her over to their table while the band switches to another upbeat line dance.
I’m left standing on the dance floor—indecently turned on—with no idea what the hell just happened.
Shelby hauls herself into a barstool and puts an ice-cold beer bottle to her cheek.
I start grinning like a fool. I mean, I knew we got along, but until that explosive kiss, I didn’t realize we’re also compatible sexually.
I’ve always known I’m all wrong for Shelby, and quite frankly, all that romance bullshit irritates me to no end, so it’s been easy to stay away from her.
There are too many non-difficult women I could be dating to waste my time trying to be the man Shelby wants.
But hell, maybe we could have some fun while we fake this engagement, you know? I’m always up for a good time.
Which to my mind means more of those kisses. I can find her a good man who’ll do all the stupid gestures she’s hung up on. Then we’ll go back to being best friends. Fuck yeah. This is a great idea.
I waltz off the dance floor and head straight for a table in the back, four men around it nursing their beers. I recognize one guy from Hornville. David, I think his name is. They look up as I approach, their conversation dying.
“Hey, David, how’s it going?”
The familiar guy gives me a cool smile. “It’s Davis, actually. And it’s going good. How ’bout you?”
Davis, David, whatever. I only have so many brain cells. I need to reserve them to remember the ladies’ names.
“Good, man. Introduce me to your friends?” I smile winningly at the three other guys, sizing them up and zeroing in on the one with a plaid shirt and fancy jeans.
He’s got black-rimmed glasses that he might use for reading novels or poems or shit like that.
He’s introduced as Judson. His handshake is firm but not too firm.
He’s confident, not easily intimidated. So far so good.
After we chit-chat for a bit and I find out he’s single, I invite him over to meet my sisters.
He follows me over to the girls’ table. I make sure he stands right next to Shelby as I make the introductions.
I watch the way he’s polite with all of them but think maybe I catch him eyeing Shelby a bit longer than the rest. If she’d quit smirking at me, she might notice Judson is good-looking.
I mean, he’s not as good-looking as me, but if he can pen a kickass love letter, she can overlook it.
Before I can get too far into the possible match-up, David comes over and tells Judson they have to leave. I try not to be irritated that he and Shelby didn’t get a chance to exchange numbers. I’ve never been a wing man for a picky girl, but it’s turning out harder than I anticipated.
“See y’all around, Judson. David.” I purposely get his name wrong, and he doesn’t correct me this time.
“I gotta go get Ryder. You comin’?” I ask Shelby. She hesitates.
“No. This was supposed to be a girls’ night. You know? Before you barged in?”
“Sorry ’bout that.” I ain’t actually sorry, but in my experience with women, that’s always what they want to hear. “I’ll see you when you get home. If y’all need a ride, just call me.” I lean in to kiss her cheek, and she lets me, her skin still hot to the touch.
It’s a relief to exit the bar into the cooling night air.
Women are impossible to understand. They take perverse pleasure in wrapping us around their little fingers and then tormenting us.
I think of all the years Pops has been grieving over Momma, and I have to shake my head to clear it of any stupid ideas.
Women are fun for a while, but I have no intention of getting that wrapped up in one.
Whatever that shit was with Shelby on the dance floor, I’ll just have to blame it on the two beers I had.
Maybe I’m turning into a lightweight the older I get.
My boots crunch on the dirt parking lot, sounding loud in the sudden quiet outside the bar. D’Wayne, the local man who refuses to move out of his van despite the town donating a tiny house to him, interrupts the quiet. “Woman troubles?”
He’s sitting on the ground with his back to a tree, a perfect perch for watching who goes in and out of Knockin’ Boots. I lift my hand in greeting. “Nah. Just pacing myself.”
D’Wayne smirks. “Never thought I’d see the day Dallas Gamble paces himself with the ladies.”
I shake my head. “We all gotta grow up sometime.”
I reach my truck door and unlock it. D’Wayne waves his hand through the air. “That’s where you’re wrong, Gamble! Never grow up! All the world is made of faith and trust and pixie dust!”
Ignoring the town Peter Pan, I climb inside my truck and get the bright idea to call Houston while I drive back to the ranch. I hit his contact number and set the phone on speaker.
“What?”
I chuckle at his greeting. “Did you know there’s a theory that one twin can suck up all the good personality away from the other twin in utero?”
“Fuck off,” Houston growls, ever the grump. “I assume you called for something more than a science lesson?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. Been thinking about you every day and just couldn’t rest ’til I heard your sweet voice, brother dearest.”
There’s a pause. So, I up the ante.
“I just saw Josie Mae. That woman knows how to rock a pair of jeans, I’m just sayin’.”
Houston’s voice turns deadly. “You got five seconds before I hang up.”
I use four of those seconds to laugh. Then I sober up and get to the point of the call because that fucker really will hang up on me.
“I’m fake engaged to Shelby Sweet.”
There’s another silence. Then it’s his turn to laugh, and as much as I tease him, it really is good to hear he still knows how to laugh.
“Dude. Explain yourself. And don’t leave anything out.”
So, I do. I explain everything, and when I’m done, he just sighs. “Well, you did the right thing by protecting her from that asshole, but damn, Dallas. You’re cooked.”
I guffaw. “No, I’m not.”
There’s humor in his voice when he responds. “You’re so cooked you don’t even know you’re cooked. That’s how fucking cooked you are.”
Then he hangs up.
And here I thought women were confusing.