Emmett lets go of me just long enough to grab his. “To Lyd—saint, savior, and supplier of tequila!” he calls, raising it high.
We clink glasses, laughing as we toast. I lick the salted rim slowly, catching Wesley’s eye as I knock the shot back and suck on the lime.
Before I can set my glass down, Emmett grabs Lydia’s hand and spins her toward the dance floor.
“I get the first dance!” he shouts, disappearing into the crowd with her.
Their laughter blends with the pounding bass, and the absence of Emmett’s arm leaves my skin cool. But it doesn’t last long.
Wesley pushes away from the table, clearing his throat and flicking his eyes toward the bar. “Gonna grab another,” he mutters, voice flat, slipping away before anyone can stop him.
Landon claims the empty chair behind us, turning it backward with an effortless confidence to face a pretty brunette wearing tortoise-shell glasses.
Lane steps forward, clearing his throat and holding out his hand.
My eyes drop to his open palm, then back up to him. His smile is subtle but sincere as he tilts his head toward the crowd.
This is probably a bad idea, but I slip my hand into his anyway, letting him lead me onto the dance floor.
“Oh shit,” Landon mutters as we pass him.
The lights shift to a deep, moody blue as Lane pulls me close, his hands settling low on my waist.
I relax into him with a sigh.Of coursehe smells amazing—smoky sandalwood and something faintly sweet.
He twirls me around, then catches me again. “You okay?” he asks, watching me carefully.
I nod, wrapping my arms around his neck. He’s taller than me, but I fit easily into his space.
The lights dim further. “Tennessee Whiskey” hums through the speakers and the dance floor fills with swaying couples.
Lane lowers his chin to the top of my head, and I feel the quiet rumble of him humming along.
I press closer and his arms tighten around me, thumb brushing lazy circles over the sliver of bare skin on my back.
“This…was a dangerous choice,” he murmurs against my ear. His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a weight behind the words. “I warned you to be careful, didn’t I?”
“Pretty sure you just said the guys can be a little much, which I can handle, like I said.”
“Mmm. And me?”
I smile. “What about you?”
His grip tightens. “You think you can handle me?”
The warmth in my bloodstream starts to swirl. My head feels floaty and my knees wobble slightly, but Lane is there. Steady.
I look up at him. His hazel eyes are soft, a little stormy.
For a fleeting moment, I wish they were amber.
But they’re not.
Because Wesley didn’t ask me to dance—Lane did.
“I didn’t think you were the rowdy type,Laney,” I tease.
His gaze drops to my mouth, voice rough. “I’m not. But I am the type who doesn’t walk away when he sees something he wants.”
