Page 8 of Hawt Cowboy
“Relax, Brooks,” I murmur against her ear. “Ain’t like I’m gonna bite.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” she mutters.
I grin, moving us in a slow circle. “You really think I’m that bad?”
“I think you like seeing your name in lights more than you like breathing.”
“Maybe,” I say, dipping my head so our hats nearly touch. “But tonight, I can’t stop looking at you.”
Her breath catches again, and I feel her try to steady herself. She’s flustered, fighting it, but I see the truth in her eyes when she looks up at me. She’s full of curiosity, heat, and confusion.
When the song ends, she steps back, breaking contact but not eye contact. “You done proving whatever point you thought you had?”
“Not even close,” I say, tipping my hat. “But you did good, sweetheart. Optics lookin’ fine.”
Her glare could melt steel. “Time to call it a night, Dalton.”
I chuckle low. “Yes, ma’am.”
Savannah spins on her heel and heads for the door, shoulders squared like she’s marching to war.
I follow, still grinning.
Outside, the air hits cooler, scented with hay and dust. The band’s bass thumps through the tin walls behind us. A few people linger around the trucks, lighting cigarettes, laughing too loud.
Savvy keeps walking, heels crunching gravel. “You think this is funny?”
“Little bit,” I admit. “You trying to boss me around like a drill sergeant? Hell, it’s adorable.”
She stops so fast I almost run into her. “This isn’t a joke, Dalton. You can’t just waltz into a bar, drink with half the county, and think your reputation will magically fix itself in the morning.”
“I didn’t waltz. It was more of a two-step.”
She glares up at me, fire sparking in those eyes. Lord, she’s beautiful when she’s mad.
“You’re impossible.”
“Depends who you ask.”
“Try your sponsors. They’re the ones who pay for your pretty boots and that shiny belt buckle.”
I glance down at it, then back at her. “You lookin’ that close?”
Her jaw drops a little, and for a second she doesn’t have a comeback. Sweet mercy, I wish I could bottle that silence.
I lean in just enough to see the pulse jump in her throat. “You care more than you want to admit, Savvy.”
She steps back, shaking her head. “You really think everything’s a flirtation, don’t you? And my name is Savannah.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But I think maybe this is.”
Her eyes flash. “Get in the truck, Dalton. Now.”
I drag it out just to watch her squirm, hands tucked in my pockets. “You ever notice how you keep sayin’ my name like it’s a curse and a prayer all at once?”
“Truck.”
I laugh and move toward it, still feeling that slow burn from the dance. She circles around to the driver’s side before I can reach it.
