Page 34 of Branded

Intense isn’t a word I would ever use to describe myself, but knowing this beautiful woman, with her curvy, petite body, stunningly impressive personality, and goddess-like face thinks I’m intense makes me want to pound my chest in alpha male pride.

The lighting in the entire alley shifts to a darker, deep red, almost like a darkroom for photography, and the slow beat of a new song seeps from the speakers.

“This is Harry Styles,” she says plainly, with no explanation.

“What?”

“Singing this song. It’s Harry Styles.” She licks her lips. “Sorry, when I get nervous, I talk a lot.”

“I can see that,” I say, as the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile. “I think it’s cute.”

“You do?”

“There is nothing about you I don’t like, Sawyer.”

Harry Styles croons on around us about an infamous “she” and it’s setting the scene before us like it was plopped right out of a movie.

I’m not sure when it happened, but we seem to have slipped into a slow, barely moving dance to the gentle beat of the song.

I sneak a peek at her full lips that have been making me laugh, heckling me, teasing me, and having brilliant conversations with me all night, and all I can think about in this moment is how desperately I want to kiss them.

A guitar solo has taken over as I lean forward, making my intention clear, giving her every chance to pull back, but she doesn’t stop me.

Instead, she pushes up on her tiptoes to meet me in the middle.

Time slows, and when I am so close I can hear her intake of breath before our lips meet, the music disappears and a voice sounds over the intercom system.

“Wanda Wannadoher, your drink is ready at the bar. Wanda Wannadoher.”

She drops back down off her toes and drops her head to my chest, laughing.

“Oh my God.” She covers her face with both hands. “That’s so embarrassing.” She must feel my chest moving because she immediately looks up at me and narrows her gaze. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes. I’m absolutely laughing at you. It’s funny.” I place my hands on her hips, giving them a slight squeeze then I take a step back, my body still high on the near kiss. “I’ll go get your drink, Wanda. Then we have some bowling to finish.”

“I deserve a trophy, Willie,” Sawyer says when we step out into the crisp, night air after our final game. The moon is shining overhead and the lights from the parking lot lead the way.

“You’re enjoying bruising my ego, aren’t you?” I place my hand on my chest. “I’m hurt.”

“Very much so, yes. I never win anything, ever, so this is just exciting for me.”

We walk slowly, side by side, down the sidewalk toward the spot in the back of the parking lot where my truck is.

“For someone who hasn’t bowled in years, you definitely picked it up fast.”

“Maybe it’s like riding a bike?”

“Maybe or maybe I’ve been hustled?” I take a chance and slip my hand into hers. She doesn’t even hesitate to lace her fingers with mine.

The sound of our shoes on the pavement mixes with the sound of crickets calling out loudly to their mates.

“I wouldn’t know how to properly hustle someone at all. I have no poker face whatsoever. I’m terrible.”

“Remind me to arrange a strip poker match with you one day,” I joke.

“I’d be better off just arriving naked.”

The images flying through my head go from tame to filthy in two point five seconds, and I have to clear my throat because my body can’t process it without some kind of reaction.

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