Page 22 of Unruly

One hand at her waist, the other catching hers as I lower her back. Her hair falls, the skirt fans out, and for one perfect second, she’s looking up at me with pure, unguarded happiness.

My heart stutters.

I pull her back up slowly, keeping her close. “You know … I’ve been trying to find a reason to do this since the first night you walked into The Bar.”

She blinks, caught off guard. “Cash …”

“I mean it.” I hold her gaze. “You’re stunning, Halle—inside and out. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”

“Okay,” she says, slightly unsteady. “Does that work in your wooing of women?”

I keep my hand on her waist, thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of her dress. “I’m not trying to woo you, Halle.” My voice comes out lower than I intended. “I’m just dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room. And for once … I don’t want the song to end.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Neither do I, honestly. Because the thing is … I meant to be charming. That’s what I am. I show up and I’m charming and women respond to it and I move on. That was the plan three months ago when she started at The Bar, and it’s been the plan every night since.

It is not feeling like a plan right now, though.

Then the song ends, she thanks me quietly, and she’s going back into the party before I can say anything.

Makai finds me about thirty seconds later, which is the universe’s way of making sure I don’t do anything stupid.

My cousin has always had impeccable timing.

“Happy birthday, man,” he says, pulling me into a hug that nearly spills my beer.

“Finally,” I say. “Someone remembered.”

“I always remember.” He turns and pulls someone forward. “You know Maggie.”

Maggie has curly blonde hair and an easy, confident smile that says she’s comfortable in a room full of strangers.

“Happy birthday,” she says. “We should all get together sometime!”

Dawson materializes at my other elbow the way he does with a drink in hand.

We talk for a while. Makai has stories from the road, Maggie laughs at the right moments—and adds things that are actually funny—Dawson is steady and reasonable, and I drink my beer and contribute commentary and keep not looking at wherever Halle is across the barn.

I have another drink.

Then another.

Colt slips out the side door at some point, and Rhett disappears. I make the mental note to not ask about either of those things because some doors should stay closed, and I like Colt too much to get involved in whatever that is.

The party gets louder and warmer and I lose track of Halle somewhere in the back half of the night. I figure she’s with Aria or her mom.

I do a lap of the barn.

She’s not at the bar cart. Not with the women’s table in the corner. Not anywhere I can see.

I slip out the side door.

She’s out in the field, a hundred yards from the barn, when I finally find her. Her long floral skirt moves with the breeze, the slit riding high on her thigh and showing off the delicate moth tattoo just below her knee. I try not to stare, but my eyes keep dragging back to it. Her face is tilted up to the moon, a bottle of whiskey loose in her hand, and she’s just … standing there.

I stand at the gate for a long moment, watching her. The image burns itself into my brain. Then I open the gate and walk out until I’m about ten feet away.

“I’m fine,” she says, without turning around.

“I didn’t say anything.”