Page 52 of Lost Love on 6th Street

I narrow my eyes.

“On the dancefloor, that is,” Luke adds with a half-laugh. “But if you’re meant to lead, you have nothing to hide behind. And dancing is the language of love.”

I blow a raspberry. “Yeah, maybe 50 years ago.”

“Oh, please. You ever been dipped? That works every time.”

“No, and I don’t—”

Luke grips me tight, swings me one way, preparing to bend me backward. My body goes brittle, and I scream. Instead of dipping me, Luke makes me trip over my own feet, and I shriek. Still, he has me tight in his grip. To prevent me from falling, he pulls me flush to his chest, forcing the brim of my hat upward and sending it tumbling to the floor.

“You have to let yourself be dipped, Eleanor!” he says.

“I wasn’t ready! I wasn’t . . .” I trail off when I lift my face upward and realize how close I am to Luke. As close as two people can be. My chest to his.

Luke seems to have noticed this too, because he goes silent and serious. His eyes fall to my mouth.

My belly flips with terror.

A kiss from Luke sounds incredible.

But I’m not sure I can handle it.

I’m pulled out of the moment when I feel my hat forced back on my head from someone behind me, pushed so far down that it nearly reaches my eyebrows. “Don’t lose your head, little lady!” a man’s Texas accent warns.

“Thank you!” I call out over my shoulder, though I’m not sure which man I’m directing my thanks toward. I adjust the brim. “Um . . . maybe we can take a break.”

Luke nods. “Sure, we should get out of the way anyway.”

We head back to the bar area. Luke stops by an empty high-top and places his palm on it. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having,” I say because I can’t nearly think straight. My blood is still rushing from being pressed up against him, making my heart race, my head swirl, and the place between my legs swell with need.

“Got it,” he says and then shuffles off to the bar.

I take a seat at the high top and watch him go. I had been so ready to ask him out the other day. Where did all that courage go?

Luke slinks up to the corner of the bar and leans onto his elbows, trying to get the attention of the bartender. His ass looks so good in those jeans. My hands ache to slide into those back pockets and squeeze.

Clearly the whiskey is going to my head.

As he waits, I watch as a woman sidles up to him. She’s got auburn hair and wears the cowgirl look well. A native. Less anxious than me for sure.

I hold my breath when she gives his arm a squeeze. Luke turns to her and smiles. He knows her.

I wonder how he knows her. Same circles? Friends? Former lovers?

Current lovers?

I push that last one away. No way he’d be bringing me out in public all the time if he had a girlfriend. But maybe it’s not a girlfriend. Maybe he just gets around. Maybe he’s looking to add me to his roster. Just another girl.

I want to throw up. The past is too heavy on my shoulders. The feeling of being unwanted. It lingers in everything I do.

In a way, it’s why I latched onto the picture of Diane. I couldn’t bear to think of tossing it aside. What if that’s me one day? Just a woman in a picture. Would someone try and learn my story if they saw me? Or would they cast me aside?

I’m not loud like Diane was. I don’t sing. I don’t stand up in front of people. I hide behind a camera. I avoid wearing things I think will make me stick out. I try not to draw attention to me.

And then I met Luke, and he pursued me. Wanted to be around me. Wants.

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