Page 3 of The Cannon
“Well, have a good time. We were just about to dance, excuse me,” she says pushing her chair back.
What? I’m being excused? To top it off, Raul is looking very smug. I hate his nose-in-the-air superior attitude. Fuck face. He’s not considering me a threat of any kind. Well that’s new.
I step back and allow them to pass. I don’t even get a side eye or a little grin. What the hell’s happening here? I wander back to my own table. But before reaching it I see Brick laughing his ass off. His wife’s hitting him on the arm to stop.
“Man, you seriously misjudged that one. I tried to tell you,” he says wiping a tear.
Looking back for a moment I see a scene unfolding. Raul is on his phone. He’s got a finger in his ear, trying to hear the other party. Bristol’s standing in front of him waiting. The music plays on as dancers move around them. Then something wonderful happens.
Raul points to his phone, holds up a hand in apology, kisses her on the cheek and walks off toward the doors.Big mistake, man. Huge.
“Let a Texas man show you how wrong you are,” I say to the highly amused Brick and January.
“Ladies, please excuse me,” I address the table.
As I’m walking away I hear Mrs. Swift saying how much she loves a Texas drawl. But there’s other more important things to concentrate on. Getting to Bristol before she makes it back to her chair. I’m sliding into home plate.
Instead of asking permission, I simply step in front of her. Taking her hand, I place it on my shoulder and put mine on her back. She’s too shocked to protest. Or amused. Can’t decide. Free hands find each other. Hmm, soft skin.
Music carries us into the crowd of dancers. Our bodies not quite touching, her breath on my cheek. And the scent. That’s another thing. It’s not typical. No flowers or summer’s days come to mind. It’s sexier. Darker. I don’t even know what that means, only that it overtakes the senses.
“Your mother asked that I watch over you while your boyfriend is busy.”
I’m surprised by her laughter.
“That’s pure bullshit,” she says following my lead. “And a really bad line. Are you telling memymotherthe most independent person I know doesn’t think I can navigate my way from the dance floor to my seat?”
“I’m just a polite gentleman lookin out for a lady’s welfare. I noticed you lost your friend.”
I try the dazzling smile, but it crashes and burns in the mounting pile of fails I’m accumulating.
“He’s a physician. He had to leave.”
“Just for that one reason I’ve decided not to become a doctor. I’d hate to ever have to walk away from you.”
“Listen, Sawyer. You’re awfully cute, you are. But I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman, and no insult intended, you’re still a boy.”
I stop our dance but only temporarily. Don’t want her to walk away.
“I’m wounded. Boy? I’m twenty-seven years old,” I say, hand to heart.
“It’s not your years I was referring to.”
That cuts deep. This woman needs a man who can’t be controlled by her strength. And more than that, she needs a man who values strength in their woman. Someone who can speak up for himself. Two alphas, man and woman, make an alpha pair. It’s either going to be heaven or hell.
“I’m no boy. Not even a little. If you knew me better you’d agree.”
“Are you referring to your nickname?”
“No ma’am. The Cannon is all about how I throw a pitch.”
“Ah huh. Sure it is,” she says with sarcasm. “And stop with the ma’am. Bristol. That’s my name.”
She looks at me with eyes like bluebonnets in a Texas field. There’s a dash of purple in there. They’re saying something that’s hard to decipher. It’s most likelyfuck off.But I’m going to pretend it isn’t. So I let it be and dance.
The song changes to a slower beat and it literally feels like we’re floating. There’s nothing stiff about her. I’ve been told I’m a good lead. Soft but with intention. She’s good too, adapting easily to change in direction.
I’m about to compliment her when she speaks first.
