Chapter 11 #2
“Whatever Whiskey Thunder is, it sounds amazing,” Sierra sighs. “But I would prefer to hide out still.”
“It’s in Winslow,” I say, naming a town well over an hour north of Sagebrush.
“Oh,” says Sierra, her face lighting up. “That sounds promising.”
I hesitate. “You and Seth can go,” I say finally, though it pains me.
“No way!” cries Sierra. “Surely, you’re dying to do something else, Logan. There’s more to life than spreadsheets, lists, and stress.”
I look down at my half-completed checklist. “Well…”
“I will badger you until you say yes,” says Sierra. “And you know how good I am at badgering—I turned it into an Olympic sport. I won gold in Paris.” She holds up her fists like she is ready to fight.
I fight the affection that fills me at her determined expression.
Still, I hesitate.
“Come on, Logan. Last chance before the badgering commences.”
I sigh. “Do you have cowboy boots?”
“You wouldn’t think so, but I actually do!” she says excitedly. “They’re more practical than cute, but they’ll work. I got them secondhand to pop on when it’s muddy or raining. Let me shower first, then we’ll go.”
When she comes back out after her shower, I hate myself a little for giving in so easily.
She’s wearing a mini skirt, a fitted tank top, and well-worn cowboy boots.
A touch of makeup highlights all the features I can’t seem to stop thinking about—her huge dark eyes, her plush, Cupid’s bow lips.
Her hair is down and slightly curly, brushing over her breasts when she moves in a way that makes my fingers itch with jealousy.
Jealous of hair? Shit, I need to get a grip.
I cast an irritated look at Seth. This is his fault. It pacifies me a little to see that he looks like he regrets suggesting it when he notices my reaction to Sierra.
The drive to Whiskey Thunder isn’t long. The place is packed, the air thick with sweat, beer, and pheromones. Neon signs glow against dark wood walls, while cowboy boots stomp and slide across the dance floor to a rousing country song.
Sierra heads straight for the bar. Seth waves at someone he knows. At first, Seth tries to get me to come with him but finally gives up when I refuse. Instead, I follow Sierra across the slightly sticky floor, watching her lean forward to flag down the bartender, the hem of her skirt lifting.
“You want anything?” she shouts to me.
“A whiskey.” I reach over her arm to hand the bartender my credit card when she tries to pay.
She smiles and wags a finger. “This is off the clock!” she cries. “But thanks.”
She wiggles her ass to the music in that tiny skirt, sipping her drink. She watches the dancers. I watch her.
Then she downs her whiskey, surveys the floor, and turns to me. “Listen, Logan. Do you mind moving away?”
“Moving away?”
“I wanna dance. No one will ask me if you’re looming over me like a jealous boyfriend.” She gestures toward a handful of men nearby, who instantly avert their gazes when they meet mine.
I am acting like a jealous boyfriend. But the jealousy only grows at the thought of any man here putting his hands on her.
“You hate dancing,” I protest. “We skipped homecoming and prom, for chrissakes.”
Sierra shrugs. “I told you that because I couldn’t afford a dress—and because even mentioning dancing made you break out in hives.”
She waves away my protests that I never once broke out in hives.
“Anyway, I’ve grown to appreciate dancing,” she says. “It’s a great way to meet people. I think everyone should learn. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to get to know those girls over there,” she says, nodding toward a cluster of scantily dressed blondes at the end of the bar.
“Teach me, then.”
Sierra looks startled. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“You wanna dance. I’ll dance with you.” My eyes sweep over her, slow, deliberate. “I’m a quick study.”
Her breath catches when I slide an arm around her waist and draw her close. Her eyelashes flutter as I drag my hand down her arm and link our fingers. The music starts, and I move—slow, steady, testing.
Her mouth opens in a look of surprise as I take the lead.
A simple two-step to start, which she follows easily, moving in perfect tandem with me.
I try a spin—her hair fans around her like dark silk.
Her skin glows in the bright lights. Her eyes twinkle with surprise and delight as I guide her through another underarm turn.
We fit and move so well together, it feels like a sweet ache thrumming through my veins.
It reminds me of when I once dislocated my shoulder during a cave exploration.
My arm was a dead weight, numb, and touching it felt like touching a stranger’s.
When Ethan popped it back in, the pain was excruciating.
But then all my nerve endings came alive, and the arm became mine again.
She has always made me feel like that—that unbearable, exquisite ache of being alive.
“You liar!” she slaps my chest when the music stops. “What happened to your fear of death by swaying?”
I lean close, mouth near her ear—purely practical, of course. It’s loud in here. My breath stirs the little wisps of hair at her temple. I tuck one behind her ear, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her perfect, delicate ear. I want to know how it feels against my lips.
“I was a groomsman at Connor and Hannah’s wedding,” I murmur. “They made the bridal party take dance lessons for some viral video. Fortunately, only eighty-three people watched it—half of whom were probably family. But now I can sway. Even spin.” I demonstrate for her, and she laughs.
The next song starts. “Again?” I ask.
She nods. One song bleeds into another, but neither of us suggests we stop or find other partners. Our gazes lock as we dance. I don’t waste the opportunity to stare into her beautiful, dark-brown eyes.
My thumb strokes the side of her waist. There’s a small gap between her top and her skirt, and the temptation to explore that little vulnerable spot—just a touch—is unbearable. I tighten my grip instead.
My gaze settles on her plump lips, glistening in the dim glow. They part slightly. The song fades, but she sways toward me. I sway toward her.
A hand lands on my shoulder. Seth. “You guys ready to go? I’ve got a tour tomorrow morning.”
The spell is broken. Sierra steps back. Disappointment rises within me.
But worse, she actually looks…relieved to be interrupted.
Hurt passes through me as she gives Seth a huge, grateful smile. “That sounds great. Lots to do before Saturday night.” She quirks an eyebrow at me. “You ready too?”
I nod, though my chest feels split open. Closure, I repeat on the drive home. I need to focus on closure.