Page 81 of Moms of Mayhem
Minutes turned to hours, and I contentedly watched from the sidelines, loving the sleepy, dopey grin that was spreading on Emmy’s face. Somewhere along the line she’d switched from alcohol to Diet Coke right alongside Shannon.
She bounced back toward our table mid-song, cheekspink and curls looser now from all the dancing. Without a word, she plucked the cowboy hat off my head and shoved it onto her own. It was too big, slanting low over one eye, but damn if it didn’t suit her.
“Hey,” I called after her, half-hearted, because watching her spin back onto the dance floor wearing my hat and that wicked smile? I wasn’t stopping that.
She looked unbelievably beautiful.
And not just in the way her legs caught the light, or the sway of that green dress, or how she wore my hat like that’s where it belonged.
It was the light in her eyes.
The way she laughed with her whole body.
The way she kept one hand near Stevie’s elbow when the beat got fast, and how she always knew where Shannon was, even if Shannon pretended not to care.
She was good. Not just gorgeous, butgood. A ride-or-die friend, the kind of woman who showed up without needing to be asked. A mom who somehow balanced strength and softness so well it made my chest ache.
And she was happy tonight. That deep, in-her-bones kind that didn’t come around often.
Stevie threw an arm around her, pulling her into a ridiculous slow sway that didn’t match the beat. Emmy leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder, both of them cracking up as they moved in lazy circles like they were the only two people in the room. Shannon lingered near the band again, peeling a few bills off a crumpled wad and handing them to the guy on guitar with a pointed look.
Whatever she said must’ve landed, because the next second she was weaving back across the floor, that signature Shannon smirk curling herlips.
The lights dimmed a little more. The music faded, and the DJ’s voice came over the speakers, low and smooth.
“Alright, folks, this is our last song before the countdown. Grab your someone, because this one’s a slow burn.”
Sugarland’sWant Tostarted up, soft, sultry, and familiar. About two people trying to decide if they were ready to jump in.
Shannon passed me on her way to the table, patting me on the chest. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I stood, heart already hammering, and crossed the floor toward Emmy. My hip didn’t dare to so much as twinge, knowing I’d keep going as if nothing was wrong in this moment. She spotted me a second before I reached her, eyes wide and warm beneath the brim of my hat.
I offered my hand. “May I?”
She didn’t answer—just took it.
The moment she stepped into my arms, the rest of the world dimmed. The sticky floor, the neon buzz, the low hum of conversations—all of it slipped into the background.
She fit against me like this was exactly where we belonged, her hands sliding up around my neck, my palms settling on the curve of her waist. We swayed slow, letting the song do the heavy lifting while she rested her cheek against my chest.
“Took you long enough,” she murmured.
I smirked. “Yes, well my PT keeps telling me to save my energy for the things that matter most.”
The chorus wrapped around us, sweet and aching, and I held her like I already knew how she kissed. Like my body remembered it from last night and wanted more.
The crowd counted down in the distance?—
Ten.
Nine.
Her eyes found mine, and I swore I saw my whole life ahead in them.
Eight.
