Not a single person is dancing. They’re either hunched over at the bar or safe in their homes, away from the freezing weather that’s rolling in.
This was a bust.
But probably for the best. I should get back to my apartment before I have to hike through feet of snow to get there.
I spin on my heel and smack directly into what feels like a brick wall, but when my shoulders are steadied by large, sturdy hands, I look up to see Reid smiling down at me.
“Hey.” I rub my nose, which was just smashed against his left pec. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard Kevin Yodel was making an appearance. It’s rare these days.” He nods toward the sign. “Kind of wish I knew it was going to be canceled.”
“Yeah, me too.” I glance out the window at the snow that’s building and building on the sidewalks and parking lot, spreading a blanket of white as far as I can see. “Are you going to head home? It’s getting pretty bad out there.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He nods toward the bar. “Grab a drink with me.”
Since I have nothing better to do, I follow him to the bar, where we take a seat at the end. Barb is working tonight. She’s probably the worst bartender you could ever hire. She doesn’t ask you what you want but just serves you what she feels like serving. When Barb is at the helm, there’s never a huge turnout.
“Here,” she says, plopping two shot glasses in front of us, the clear liquid splashing on the chipped bar top. “Bottoms up. I’m going to the bathroom.”
I bring a shot glass to my nose and cringe—straight-up vodka.
Reid lifts his glass. “Bottoms up.” He raises mine too, his hand wrapped around my fingers, clinks them together, and then pushes the shot glass toward my mouth before dropping his hand back down to the bar top. He downs his shot in one smooth motion and then waits for me.
“Don’t be a pussy, Roberts. Down that.”
“Don’t call me a pussy—that’s so crass.”
He barks out a laugh. “When did you become the polite police? I’m pretty sure you told me to eat my own shit the other day.”
True.
“Well, we’re in public.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re always in public. Stop stalling and down the drink.”
“I don’t want a headache.”
“Eve, drink the goddamn thing.”
“Why?” I ask, my fingers tightening around the small glass. “Are you trying to take advantage of me, Knightly?”
“No, I wouldn’t have to take advantage. I’d just give you the go-ahead, and you’d be all over me.”
“Oh fuck off, I would not.”
He turns on his stool and leans against the bar, his arms propping him up as he stares out at the derelict dance floor. He tilts his head to the side to talk to me.
“Please, you’ve had a giant crush on me ever since middle school. I know you want all of this.” He gestures up and down his body. For a brief moment, my heart catches in my chest, wondering if he actually knows about my crush . . . that is, until I see the wicked teasing in his eyes.
I snort, spilling a little bit of vodka on my jeans.
“Yup, you figured me out. I’ve been pining after you all this time,” I deadpan. “Been saving myself too. Only want one penis, and it’s yours.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know you’ve been. Read it in your diary two weeks ago. So drink up, and I’ll get you another shot.” He’s such an ass. I don’t have a diary.
“We are not having another,” I say right before throwing back the shot, the burn down my throat making me shiver. Why I did that I have no idea, but when I open my eyes, Reid is reaching over the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila, and pouring us each another.
Okay, tequila I can do.
But drunk and alone with Reid . . . not sure about that just yet.
“Here.”
We tap our glasses, tip our heads back, and chug, both our shot glasses making a clink on the bar top together. They barely have time to settle before Reid pours us one more and puts the bottle back.
“Seriously, what are you doing?” I ask when he hands me the glass.
“Trying to get you out on the dance floor.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You have to loosen up, Roberts.”
“You don’t have to get me drunk to dance.” I take the shot and slide off my stool. “I dance on my own.” Walking backward, I do a pretty lame attempt at a moonwalk, twirl, and start shifting back and forth to the music.
Reid pulls on the bill of his hat as he scans me from my boots up my denim-clad legs to my simple long-sleeve black T-shirt. His hungry eyes eat me up right before he tosses back his shot and stands too. I’ve seen those eyes before but only on occasion, and they usually come out to play when he’s had a drink or two. Wearing a gray henley shirt and worn-out hat, he looks like the perfect country boy, ready to stir up some mischief.
Just like the boy I met so many years ago, the same boy who once froze every single one of my bras, thinking it was funny.
It was not.
I quirk my finger at him, and for once he takes direction, striding across the dance floor and taking me by the hands. He pulls me into his chest and lowers one hand to my back while the other clasps our palms together. As “Love Shack” plays through the speakers, he guides me back and forth across the dance floor, surprising me with just how good he is at dancing.
He spins me out, then back in and continues to glide us around as a laugh falls past my lips. The tragedy of my father’s death fades away. The annoyance of my brother not coming home disappears. And instead, a new memory is made on this dreary day, a moment I think I’ll carry with me for a very long time, because this is the moment Reid Knightly danced with me.
“We need some new tunes,” he says, looking around. “This old stuff is fun, but I want you grinding on me.”
“Excuse me?” I laugh out loud, wondering if I just heard him right.
“Hold on,” he says, letting go of my hand.
Not really sure what I should be doing with myself, I sidestep in time with the music and snap my fingers at my sides. Yeah, I dance like a middle-aged woman at a wedding, and I’m okay with it.
Reid disappears behind the bar and heads to the back while the lights reflecting off the stagnant disco ball pass over my body, lighting me up. If there were more people in the bar area besides Marv, the local drunk, I would be feeling pretty damn stupid at this point. Don’t get me wrong: Marv is one of Port Snow’s own, and we take care of him when he needs it, but I don’t think he can even remember his own name. I have nothing to worry about.
The music stops, so my feet do too, but before I can go take a seat at the bar again, a club mix fills the speakers, and a familiar song starts to play. It’s sexy and far more modern than what we were just dancing to.
What’s this song again?
I twist my lips to the side, trying to figure it out, just as Reid comes bursting onto the dance floor. He spins me around and pulls my back to his front, then leans forward, his breath tickling my ear.
“Let me see what you’ve got, Roberts. Give me that good hip action?”
His hands grip me, and before I can figure out what the hell has gotten into Reid, my ass is plastered to his crotch, and we’re both swaying to the music, his hand sliding to my stomach, where my muscles contract from his touch, as my hand slides up to the back of his neck, where I anchor myself.