Page 60 of Riding the Storm
“Come on. Let’s get you fed, then.”
He leads her toward the food, and we all follow.
The party hits full swing in no time—music, food, dancing. The ribs are perfectly smoked and tender, and the pig melts in the mouth.
I spend half the night chatting with guests and avoiding Bryce, but every so often, I catch his gaze through the crowd.
Later, as the fire burns low and the stars come out, I slip away to the porch for some air. The night’s warm, the air sweet. I lean on the railing, letting the breeze cool my skin.
“You want a beer?”
I jump slightly, turning to find Bryce, holding two amber bottles.
“I’m good,” I lie, even though my throat’s dry.
He sets one down anyway, close enough that his fingers brush mine. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I glance at him. “Thanks.”
His eyes slide down to the V of my dress.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“And how am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re picturing me naked.”
“Maybe I am.”
“You shouldn’t. This,” I say, waving a finger between the two of us, “needs to stay professional.”
He chuckles softly. “Pretty sure what we did last night already crossed that line.”
I narrow my eyes, though the heat crawling up my neck betrays me. “You promised not to make this a thing.”
“No, I didn’t,” he says quietly.
Before I can respond, Shelby’s voice cuts through the noise behind us. “Hey, y’all, Matty’s about to cut the cake and open presents!”
I straighten fast, taking a step back, pretending like nothing just passed between us.
But as I turn to go, Bryce leans in just enough to murmur, “You missed a spot.”
I blink. “What?”
His mouth twitches. “On your neck.”
I lift a hand to my throat, where my concealer’s probably sweating off in the heat, and groan under my breath as I pull my hair forward.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook for that,” I hiss as I turn to go.
“I look forward to a thorough tongue-lashing later,” he calls after me.
“Damn cowboy,” I mutter, and I can hear his chuckle as I stomp away.
Iwalk away from Bryce before I start yelling about the mark he obviously knew he left on my skin. That conversation is not one for everyone’s ears.
I stomp my way across the porch to where everyone’s gathered. String lights glint like a thousand fireflies, draped across the rails. The bonfire throws a low orange glow, flickering off faces I’ve known all my life. The laughter, the chatter, the smell of hickory smoke and birthday cake—it all wraps around me, calming my frayed nerves.
