Chapter Twenty-Seven
The event barn is dimly lit, with only a honeyed glow from the twinkle lights strung through the rafters spilling down onto the dance floor.
It makes everything feel a little softer as the night morphs from excited, junk-food-fueled children in costumes and bright arena lights to the crooning of Wildhaven Junction. The band, a local favorite, is onstage.
Cabe and Bryce peel off toward the makeshift bar set up just outside the doors, already arguing about who’s paying for the first round of Ranch Waters. Harleigh loops her arm through mine and practically drags me inside.
“Come on. Let’s find a couple of sexy cowboys to twirl us around the floor,” she says, eyes bright and mischievous as we push through the crowd.
She’s not wrong. It feels like every cowboy in a fifty-mile radius decided tonight was the night to dust off their boots and show up. Denim, hats, clean-shaven jaws, and crooked smiles everywhere I look.
“Uh-oh, incoming,” Harleigh whispers.
I follow her gaze and catch sight of Dixon leaning against the right wall, talking to a couple of girls. The second his eyes land on us, he pushes off the wall and heads our way in a confident stride.
I paste on a smile. “Great,” I murmur.
“Hi, Harleigh, Shelby. I was hoping you’d be here tonight,” Dixon says when he reaches me.
“Hi, Dixon. I’ll just be … over there,” Harleigh says, pointing vaguely into the chaos before slipping away.
“It’s good to see you,” I answer, polite and practiced.
And then we just … stand there. The music swells, people laugh and brush past us, and neither of us seems to know what to say next. Thank God Charli appears at my elbow with two red Solo cups.
“Sorry, Dixon. I didn’t know you were here,” she says, handing one to me.
“That’s okay. I’m sticking to beer tonight,” he replies easily. “You ladies wanna dance?”
“Not yet,” Charli answers for us. “Gotta get this first one down.” She waves her cup.
Bryce and Cabe start shoving a couple of standing tables together in the back corner, and Charli invites Dixon to join us. Which he happily accepts.
Waylon’s words from last night echo in my head. “You don’t like him at all.”
And it’s true. Dixon is nice. He’s handsome. He’s everything a girl like me should probably want. But there’s nothing there. No spark. No pull. I wish there were. I wish the same thrill shot through me when I saw him that I felt when I saw Waylon at that stupid ring-toss game.
What is wrong with me?
Waylon is like a wildfire, all heat and danger, threatening to burn everything around him to the ground, and I’m a moth, flying straight toward the flames. I know I should stay away from him.
I follow Charli toward the back, where the boys have clustered three standing tables into a little semicircle.
Red cups cover every inch of the surfaces.
Charli walks straight into Bryce’s arms, and he pulls her into him instantly.
Cabe starts handing out drinks. Harleigh returns with a tall blond cowboy in tow.
“This is Kevin,” she announces.
Cabe hands him a cup and welcomes him like he’s known him for years.
Dixon drifts closer to me as he starts talking to Axle about some upcoming rodeo in Topeka. His arm settles around my waist, his hand warm and light against my hip.
And that’s when I know for sure.
Instead of my body leaning into him, instead of me enjoying the touch, every instinct in me wants to pull away.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me. I’m just going to step out to the restroom.”
“You want me to walk you?” he asks.
“No, I’ll be right back,” I promise.
He smiles and lets me go, turning back to his conversation without missing a beat.
Maybe I’m being ridiculous. We haven’t even been on a real date. I’m writing him off for nothing.
I weave through the crowd, moving slowly, watching couples pair off as Wildhaven Junction slides into a slow song.
Bryce pulls Charli onto the dance floor and tugs her right into his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he buries his face in her hair, his hand firm at her back. Loving. Protective.
An ache blooms in my chest. I want that. I want to be held like that, like I’m someone’s whole world for three and a half minutes of sweet, romantic chords.
I stop at the edge of the dance floor and close my eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me.
“Hey, Stormy.” His voice is low and close, vibrating right through me.
I open my eyes.
Waylon is there, like I actually did conjure him out of thin air. He’s close enough that I can see the little crease at the corner of his mouth when he smiles.
“Hey,” I say, breathless in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
“You deep in thought?” he murmurs.
“Just lost in the music,” I say. “I thought you’d left?”
“Change of plans,” he says, glancing toward the tables. “You with Dixon tonight?”
“Not really.”
He quirks a brow.
“I didn’t know he was coming tonight. He was already here when we arrived.”
The song swells around us, soft and aching.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks.
I should say no. I know I should. But my body is already stepping into him.
His smile is slow and dangerous. He takes my hand, and the spark that jumps between us feels like lightning. He pulls me gently onto the floor, his hand settling at my waist, and I don’t want to move away. No, I want him to grip me even tighter.
We sway, our bodies fitting so easily together that it scares me.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“Probably,” he agrees.
I slide my hand that is resting on his shoulder down his chest. My eyes follow my fingers as they graze the buttons of his flannel.
“Stormy?”
“Yeah?”
“About last night,” he says.
“Can we not?” I whisper. “I was a little tipsy.”
His eyes widen slightly.
“Okay, more than a little.”
“I just—”
The song ends, and couples start to exit the floor around us. We don’t let go right away. But eventually, I force myself to step back.
“I should go.”
“Go where?” he asks.
I glance back toward the tables, heart racing. Dixon looks up when he sees me, hopeful and kind, and guilt twists in my gut.
I turn back to Waylon. “Anywhere but here.”
“Okay,” he says, placing his hand against the small of my back. “Let’s get out of here.”
I let him lead me out of the barn. My heart pounds as we make our way across the now-darkening fairgrounds to the lit parking area.
The music fading in the distance. When we reach his truck, he moves to open the passenger door for me.
I stop, shutting the door and turning to face him as I second-guess the wisdom of getting in.
“Stormy?”
My eyes come to his, and his hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb caressing my bottom lip.
“You want to go back?”
I shake my head.
He steps forward, and I gasp as my back hits cool metal.
“You are so beautiful,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
A shiver runs through me.
“So fucking beautiful,” he repeats as his lips slide over my jaw.
I close my eyes and let myself feel.
I had it all wrong, I think to myself as my body ignites.
I’m the wildfire.
He’s just the one pouring gasoline on the flame.