Page 65 of Homebound

MAKIN’ BABIES ON DANCE FLOORS

DAKOTA

“You remember the first song we danced to?” I ask, taking his hand. The heat from his fingers flies directly into my heart, warming me up from the inside.

“Course I do, ’cause I don’t have a terrible memory like someone I know,” he teases, guiding me from the sticky table onto the stickier floor. “I remember everything about that night. We were just teenagers, but I’d been practicing dancing with my mama the night before, and I couldn’t wait to impress you with my new moves.”

He wiggles his brows.

My heartbeat stutters, and I can only manage to get out one word. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. When you showed up in that pink lace dress, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I had a pretty big crush on you then, not that you noticed.”

“You did?” I breathe out, my stomach tightening, core igniting.

“Still do.” He shoots me a wink, dropping that truth like it weighs nothing.

I think we’re both feeling the effects of the alcohol, but drunkenly sleeping with my best friend doesn’t sound like a terrible idea tonight. In fact, dragging him into the outdoor shower sounds like a brilliant idea.

I can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious, but thanks to the margarita, I’m feeling playful. “Wyatt Dale Patterson. Are you flirting with me?”

His fingers inch up my waist, climbing higher and higher. “Yes, ma’am. I have been for a while now. You gonna put me out of my misery and flirt back?”

Before I know what’s happening, he’s swinging me around the dance floor, my hair fanning in an arc of waves. “Wyatt!” I laugh-shriek, feeling bubbly thanks to the margarita and his words.

He stops twirling me all of a sudden and gazes at me with such intensity, I forget we’re in the middle of a packed dance floor. Couples circle around us, but he just stares at me with parted lips.

“What?” I pant, brushing a piece of hair stuck to my lip gloss. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He swallows.

I wait.

“You called me Wyatt.” Everyone two-steps, moving in a coordinated circle, but we still. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. He leans in so his stubble velcros to my cheek. “I forgot how much I like it when you say my name. Say it again for me, would you?”

My breath hitches at his rough tone. He notices. His Adam's apple bobs again.

When I don’t say anything, he scrapes a hand down my back and fists the cotton of my dress. “Say. It. Again,” he rasps.

His rumbly words send a ripple of desire down my spine. “Wyatt…”

It’s a plea. It’s a moan. It’s a revelation.

It’s all of the above.

This feels a lot like flirting, but I think it’s the alcohol making his voice sound all gritty. But it’s not the tequila making his thumbs brush my hips. Or making me lean into his touch.

That’s all on us.

I lift my chin, aware of prying eyes in this bar. “Everyone staring at you is going to think we’re together if you keep dancing with me like this, you know? You’ll have the whole town talking.”

“Good.” With a firm tug, he jerks me forward into his warm chest. “I want this whole town talking about us.”

Before I can even process the way he just handled me, he starts twirling me around the dance floor with a confidence I’ve never seen from him. He was always a good dancer, but now he’s got this casual saunter to him that, I’ll be honest, is ridiculously sexy.

I think men who know how to dance also know their way around a bedroom. Nine out of ten times, if he’s got moves on the dance floor, it normally means he’ll have moves in bed, so maybe I’m wrong about Wyatt. I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have his head between my thighs, looking up at me with glistening lips.

I step on his boot, and his low chuckle sinks into my body, then drags lower, and lower, until my legs clench.