Page 65 of Dove
“Can I buy you a shot?” Josh asked. His arm brushed mine and my stomach swooped.
“It’syourbirthday.”
“But I missed yours,” he countered, regret deep in his voice, and a silence settled over us that stretched the length of those three years he was gone.
He’d missed more than just birthdays.
The bartender cleared his throat impatiently. “If y’all aren’t ready, I can come back…”
“Yes,” I breathed in permission, looking at Josh. “But I get the next round.”
“Deal.”
Josh rattled off an order of strong shots, and drinks. Lager for him and a local hard cider for me.
We stayed quiet as we waited. The music thundered from the speakers so loud it vibrated in my chest, but not loud enough to distract from what grew in our silence, making my skin tingle and my pulse quicken. It was a niggling awareness of his proximity, of his large stature beside me, even if all he was doing was just standing there. His gaze roamed curiously across my flesh, near tangible as it darted greedily over the slivers illuminated by the flickering lights, igniting a trail of fire as my skin burned in its wake.
When the man returned with our drinks, I exhaled shakily, relieved that Josh’s intense stare was finally broken, his attention shifting elsewhere. I suddenly understood what it must feel like to be a butterfly pinned to a board—beautiful, but utterly unaware of its fate.
Josh laid some bills on the counter, waving away the change before sliding a full shot my way. I picked it up carefully, not wanting to spill a drop. I’d need every bit of it.
The clink of our glass rims together was lost to the music, but the drawl of his deep voice wasn’t.
“Happy twenty-first, Dove,” he said, even though I was closer to twenty-two now.
“Happy twenty?—”
“Don’t you dare,” he growled, his eyebrows drawing together sternly. He nodded to the glass in my hand. “Take your shot.”
I ignored his order. Exaggerating a pout, I felt brave enough to flirt just a little bit even without the encouragement of alcohol.
Reverie would be so proud.
Holding the shot glass loosely in my grasp, I made no move to drink it as I watched him shudder through the burn of alcohol and lick the remnants off his bottom lip.
Iwanted to be the one licking the taste away.
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of your age,” I paused before adding coyly, “old man.”
“Old man?” He scowled. “Take that, then I’ll show you how much of anold manI am.
We both knew he wasn’t much older than me, but I couldn’t help but enjoy the playful banter—and the gruff order, laced with just the right amount of innuendo. I tossed back the shot, letting the burn as it slid down mask the full-body tremor he’d triggered in me.
Easier to blame it on the alcohol.
He grabbed my hand the moment the bottom of my shot glass hit the bar.
“Our drinks,” I protested as he pulled me away to the dance floor, which was full but not crowded enough to feel claustrophobic.
“Leave them.”
My hand was engulfed in his larger one, his palm hot against mine as he tugged me along.
We ended up in the middle of the floor as the song bled into a familiar guitar riff, an upbeat country song, which was always a favorite around these parts. The people surrounding us hollered in excitement, singletons forming loose lines while couples swung each other around as the song crooned on.
I tried to slip my hand from Josh’s, uncertainty making me hesitant, but he just held on tighter, bringing me in closer to his body as he started to sway.
At first it was just a simple series of steps, a pattern I was familiar with from years of practice at local shindigs and parties. Everyone knew how to line dance around these parts. It was practically a requirement for a town as rural as this one. You couldn’t escape going to a barbecue or pig roast without someone cranking up the music loud enough to have the whole party moving.
