Page 140 of Ride the Sky

Are we together or not? If so, why in the fuck are we keeping our distance?

I lick my lips, wanting to kiss him. Wanting to crawl onto his lap and give him the ride of his life.

The jukebox thumps. A Shania Twain song that has my boot tapping. My mind spinning.

An idea comes to me. Maybe it’s the whiskey, but I want to do what we’ve always done at Nowhere. Play a game. Only this time, it’s more of a test. Test this, test us.

Test if we have changed, if we really can do this.

Because the longer Wyatt and I live together, the more it feels like we should be together. Even if we haven’t voiced it. Even if the thought oftogetheris wholly terrifying.

We’ve been playing this game for the last five years. What’s one more night?

One more night with all our cards on the table.

I cut Wyatt a sideways glance as I swallow down another shot. “Lot of buckle bunnies here.”

“In from Ronan,” he hedges, sipping his whiskey. “Stock show just ended.”

I shrug. “Could dance with one.”

His head jerks back, so sharply you’d think I slapped him. “Dancin’ sounds like dangerous business.” His voice is wary.

“Why?” I prod. “All the Montgomery men have dance moves. I’ve seen you.”

A muscle jerks in his jaw as he stares at me. “Is this what you want to do tonight? Fight?”

“Who’s fighting?” A sly smile overtakes my face. “What if I want to dance?”

“What about your leg?” he rasps.

“I’ll find a cowboy to kiss it and make it all better.”

His eyes darken dangerously. Before he can say anything, I take my whiskey in one long slug. I breathe through the sting then slip out of the booth.

“Fuck,” he hisses as I lean down in front of him, giving him a tease of my cleavage. “Fallon, what—”

“If you want me, come and get me,” I sigh against his mouth. A taunt, a challenge.

With that, I leave Wyatt sitting there, his hands digging into the edge of the table, as if holding himself back. His blazing blue eyes are chips of ice as they follow me across the dance floor.

Halfway to the bar, I’m stopped by a cowboy in a suede vest. “Lookin’ for a dance, sweetheart?”

I lift my chin, examining his weathered face. “Actually, I am.”

The cowboy offers a hand, and I take it, keeping my face neutral as he pulls me onto the dance floor. His big hand closes around my waist, pulling me in close.

Too close.

Without looking at Wyatt’s face, I know. He’s watching us.

So is the entire bar. Our town knows us. Knows we hate each other with passion. But they’ve never seen this. The real us that exists under all the bullshit. The fear.The secrets.

Me and Wyatt.

The jukebox kicks into a fast fiddle song. The cowboy pulls into a spritely jig across the dance floor. Our boots crack the floor. A laugh, wild and joyful, erupts out of me. Our gait is awkward and stuttered with my limp, but I feel fan-fucking-tastic. Fuck the limp. I can still do anything.

“You got some good moves there, little darlin’.” The cowboy’s hand runs over my waist, tucking me closer.

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