Are we flirting? “Maybe.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
He laughs again, rocking back on his boots. “An existential crisis doesn’t scare me, just so you know.”
“You like it messy, huh?” I scrunch my eyes shut for an instant. Only me would turn this casual conversation awkward.
To his credit, he doesn’t say anything cheesy. Instead, he sets his empty water bottle down and nods to the dance floor. “How about we dance it out.”
I glance at Maryanne.
“We can keep tabs on our friends from out there,” he adds.
Bonus points for how observant this guy is. “Who are you watching out for?”
“The guy dancing with your friend.”
I cock my head, curious. Should I be worried about this guy knowing who my friend is? “Are you seriously concerned for his safety?”
His eyes shine with a playful gleam. “What kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t?”
His ability to keep surprising me is disarming.
“Come on.” He offers me his hand.
The song’s half over, so what’s the harm? I set my mostly empty bottle of water on a side table so I can come back later and find a recycling bin, then slide my hand into his. His palm is warm and dry and his fingers fold over mine. Based on those muscles defining his forearms and the thick calluses on his palms that tell me he’s a man who knows the value of hard work, I’m sure he could easily crush my hand, yet his grip is gentle. We weave to the edge of the dance floor and he spins me to face him.
Even the dim lighting can’t hide his rugged good looks. It’s the mop of lazy curls coupled with the dark scruff and mustache creating a mountain man vibe, or maybe he really is a cowboy? Heat coils down my spine because cowboys have always been my weakness.
He keeps hold of my left hand and tucks his right behind my shoulder, so I place mine at the top of his bicep. It’s intimate yet leaves plenty of space between us.
I try to relax into his lead, but every point of contact is radiating warmth into my skin. Plus his gray-blue eyes framed by dark lashes are hard to look away from, and up close like this, he smells good. A little spicy, like cloves, and something comforting, like sun-warmed cotton. Deep in the pit of my stomach, those butterflies are ramping up.
Is it because he’s so handsome that I can’t get a breath?
Or am I out of practice? I haven’t dated anyone since Nate broke up with me almost two years ago. Partly because of my fieldwork schedule, but mostly because I don’t trust myself. What if I have terrible taste in men that will just repeat over and over? Maryanne thinks it’s time I bust out of exile, but I’m like a freshly molted dragonfly, flexing untestedwings.
The guy smiles. “Of all the places you could have picked tonight, why the Sweetwater?”
“It’s got the best music,” I reply.
“So you’ve been here before? You’re a local?”
“I grew up not far from here.”
“Are y’all celebrating something?”
His honeyed drawl sends a shiver pulsing beneath my skin. “My ex is getting married.”Thank you, tequila. Or maybe I’m testing this guy’s tolerance for messy. Or I’m just low on fucks to give right now.
He gives a surprised chuff and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “And you’re celebrating because?”
“It’s not me.”
He’s turning us slowly, giving me a new view of the dance floor every few steps. “So that’s not the existential crisis.”
I can’t help my laugh. “Nope.” I glimpse Maryanne and her partner definitely dancing closer together now. “How’d you end up here tonight?”