Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Don’t know why this makes me smile, but it does.
Maybe because she’s at ease with me? She’s singing her heart out now, making the dance her own while somehow letting me lead at the same time.
She’s a fucking knockout.
When the chorus hits, she presses against me, going up on her toes to say in my ear, “Your turn.”
Despite almost blacking out at having her plastered against me, I ask, “My turn?”
“To spin. Give the ladies what they want.” She pulls back, lifting our joined hands.
“What’s that?”
“A show.” Her other hand curls around the ball of my shoulder. Then she pulls.
I pull back. “I don’t spin.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. That’s how concussions happen.”
“C’mon. You gotta show me how legs work, remember?”
I let out a bark of laughter. Hard, genuinely surprised laughter that hits me in the sides and makes me feel light on my feet.
“Do it!” Ryder shouts above the music.
I didn’t realize he was so close; he’s just to our right, dancing with Billie Wallace. Thank God that girl showed.
I arch a brow at Mollie. “You gonna be the one to take me to the hospital if I fall?”
“You’re not going to fall.” She parrots my line back to me with such precise, steady wickedness, I laugh again. “You twirl. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You have some fucking memory.”
“You have some fucking nerve, not giving your dance partner what she wants. C’mon, cowboy.”
“Do it! Do it!” Ryder and Duke are chanting it now.
Glancing at the bar, I see Wyatt with a shot of whiskey in his hand and a big, stupid smile on his face.
Save me, I mouth to him.
He just holds up the whiskey and then downs it.
I am going to kill him later.
Turning back to Mollie, I sigh. Then I lift up our arms as high as they’ll go. I still have to duck, but I manage to twirl, my boots sliding a little too easily on the floor. Had ’em resoled recently, so I have to be extra careful.
Then I’m facing Mollie again, her smile bright. Genuine. Around us, scattered applause breaks out.
She laughs, a sound that sends a rush up the back of my throat. “See how much they loved it?”
Did you?
Apparently so, because when the band plays the chorus again a minute later, Mollie is holding up her arm. This time, all she has to do is bite that bottom lip again to get me to twirl.
She hollers. Because I have a death wish, I find myself egged on by her attention, rolling my hips to the beat.
I fucking love to dance. Makes me forget how tired I am. How overwhelmed. All the shit I have to do, the never-ending list of tasks that floats around in my head day and night, evaporates as I move.
Only I must roll my hips a little too hard, because suddenly my left foot slips out from under me. My stomach lurches as I stumble and lose my balance. Shit, not again—
But I’m yanked upright by a hand wrapped around my arm.
Mollie’s hand.
I immediately grab on to her, the two of us hanging on to the other’s forearm like we’re doing some kind of secret handshake.
She looks at me with wide eyes. “You okay?”
“I am.” My pulse pounds in my temples. “Thanks.”
That smile. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”
“I shouldn’t be out here in the first place.” I nod at the floor. “Dancing.”
“Yeah, you should.” She gestures at the bar, which is getting more crowded by the minute. Everyone’s watching us, smiles on their faces. “Told you they wanted a show.”
The song ends. Again, the crowd hoots and hollers and claps. But I just stare at Mollie, trying—failing—to ignore the weird, buzzy feeling that rises inside my chest.
First the lemonade. Then the shower break and sandwich. Now the dance-floor rescue.
Mollie’s looking out for me, isn’t she?
The spoiled, self-centered trust-fund brat is paying attention to me in a way no one else has in…a while.
Maybe she’s not such a brat.
Or maybe she’s got an ulterior motive. Really, why would she look out for me, if not to trick me into trusting her?
Only my gut tells me otherwise.
My knees wobble. Mollie keeps her hand on my arm, grip firm. I got several inches and a hundred pounds on her, but she’s stronger than she looks.
Who the fuck is this girl?
And why do I want to suddenly commit unspeakably violent acts against every guy who so much as glances at her?
I gotta get gone. Now. Climb in my truck and peel out of here like the building’s on fire. That’d be the smart thing to do.
But Mollie’s the smart one, isn’t she? And I don’t see her going anywhere.
Curling an arm around her waist, I pull her against me. “Then let’s give ’em a show.”
CHAPTER 15
Mollie
LET GO AND LET GOD