Page 56 of Fixing to Be Mine

“What?” I ask.

“If I find out Jace is the reason Fenix stopped riding,” he says, more to himself than anything else, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

I squeeze his thigh and pull him out of whatever big-brother spiral he’s in.

He wraps his arm around me. “We should probably head to the stage. London plays at nine. We miss it, and she’ll never forgive us.”

“Let’s not be late.”

We scoot out of the bleachers and wander past food trucks, where people are gathering near a stage.

String lights blink on above us, and London strums her guitar. It’s a song that’s slow and easy, one meant to draw people onto the grass in front of the stage.

“Wow, she’s incredible,” I say, recognizing talent immediately.

“Yeah. I’m proud of her,” he says. “She’s been working hard. Wants to make a career out of it. Now that she’s twenty-one, she’s been booking more gigs.”

We move closer, and London spots us. She shoots me a wink as she continues her song.

“Would you like to dance?” Colt asks.

“I don’t dance,” I say.

He holds his hand out to me. “Come on. Because you don’t know how?”

“I know how,” I admit, taking his grasp as he pulls me close to him. I giggle. “I have two left feet. I suck at it.”

“Maybe you had sucky partners?”

His arm slips around my waist, and my body reacts before I can tell it not to.

“Or I’m the common denominator,” I say.

He spins me around and dips me.

“Doubt it,” he mutters, nearly stealing my ability to speak.

We reach the dance area, where couples are already swaying under the string lights. Colt pulls me closer, and I settle into him, my heart thudding against his chest. We sway together, and I think this is something I could get used to. The grass beneath our boots is soft, the lights warm above us, and the rest of the world fades away.

We’re so damn close, and I feel his breath on my temple. I inhale him, and he smells like cedar and clean soap and the kind of safety I don’t let myself want. I lift my chin enough to meet hisgaze, and he’s looking at me like I’m already his. Like I always have been. And suddenly, I can’t remember what part of this was supposed to be pretend.

I want to kiss him.

I want to feel his lips brush across mine, but I don’t close the space. I don’t ask for more. It’s not a line I can cross with him, not when I know my time here is slipping away. Instead, I keep moving, caught in a slow circle under glowing lights, pretending my hands aren’t trembling and my heart isn’t halfway to his already.

“This is right,” he confesses, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he holds me a little tighter.

His words hit harder than I expected. I pull back enough to meet his soft summer-sky-blue eyes, full of adoration.

“I’m glad I’m in Valentine,” I tell him.

The song ends, and he spins me gently, dipping me on the final note.

“Would you like some Valentine in you?” he asks.

I laugh—loud and full and completely unfiltered—as the lights flicker above us and the crowd claps for London. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Hilarious.”

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