“Some cop you are.” Greg rolled his eyes and took another bite of Crystal Walker's sticky bun. “Dazed and confused, hypnotized by the spinning lights and all.”
“You've got sticky stuff all over your face, man,” Colton shot back to cover for being caught hiding in his own head. “It’s not a great look for you.”
“Figures you would be staring at my mouth.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to pull out myDeliverancequotes?”
They stared at each other and then laughed. Cracking up like newborn fools. Greg slapped him on the back, almost knocking his ass down.
“Hey, the music’s starting. Come on.” Greg led the way back toward the main entertainment stage.
“Someone’s sawing that fiddle like he knows how.” Colton could play guitar some, and a little piano—nothing fancy, but enough to be able to say he could.
The band who was on right now was on a whole other level. They knew what they were doing, especially the fiddle. That was hot.
They rounded the edge of the stage, and he glanced at the growing crowd, the action damn near automatic anymore. The main core of listeners consisted of a couple, three hipsters, and handful of older folks.
He looked up at the stage and, damn. Just damn.
The fiddle player might as well have been the proverbial angel fallen to earth. He was younger than the rest of the band, with blond hair and fine features, but his hands fascinated Colton to no end. They were gorgeous. Long-fingered and fine, one set moved over the strings so fast they were a blur, andthe other caressed the bow like a lover. Damn. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself.
The rest of the guy was pretty, too. Lean, not too tall, but well put-together, and his clothes showed that right off.
“Seriously, Scrap. You’re drooling.”
So what if he was? Jesus, it was like someone had ordered this one right out of the Walmart catalog for him. “Shut up.”
“Musicians. I guess you have a type, at least.”
Colton didn’t have a ‘type,’ unless hot as fuck counted, but he had to admit, the music angle added to the appeal. He closed his left eyelid and raised his right eyebrow. “As opposed to anything that walks and talks?”
“Not so.” He waved his finger in front of Colton’s face. “I like them to be easy, and a little on the trashy side.”
Colton rolled his eyes because despite trying to crack a joke, there was a bit of truth to Greg’s words. Rather than prolong the banter, something Colton knew he’d lose, he moved closer to the stage when the fiddle player took a solo. The guy swayed back and forth, really giving it all he had, and when he opened his eyes, his gaze seemed to land right on Colton. Blue. His eyes were blue.
Damn, Sam, aren’t you sweeter than fresh cut hay?He forced himself not to lick his lips, because that was nasty, and he was in uniform.
Still. Pretty pretty.
He split the difference by giving the guy a smile and a tip of his hat, just in case he was peeking too. A man could dream and not be skanky about it.
Colton was fairly sure the fiddle player couldn’t see him, not with the lights and all, and besides, he was just another deputy, no one to look at, no one to be all googly-eyed over. It didn’t matter one bit. He liked the fantasy, and he was willing to indulge himself some.
The band swung into a hardcore bluegrass number, one that sounded familiar, and it got up and moved. Even Greg was tapping his foot.
“They’re rocking, man,” Greg said.
Colton nodded. “They are.” And they were going to be playing three shows a day all damn week. That was a lot of shows to get to listen to. A shit-ton of opportunities to build his fantasies for the lonely nights. He grinned. That was a damn fine thing. He could get an eyeful in a week.
“What’s funny, Scrappy?”
He glanced over. Greg would figure it out soon enough, but Colton didn’t need to rush it along. “Just loving the weather, the pretty lights, and the music. Reminds me of us as kids.”
“Uh-huh. Come on, man. Time to walk around again and make with the don’t-fuck-up vibes.”
He caught one more glance of sweet, blond, and talented, before he turned to go. “Classy. Real classy.”
“Whatever.” Greg dug into his breast pocket. “Sheriff wants us to pass out these free tickets to the charity rodeo.”
Colton groaned. He thought they’d get a pass since they were working for the fair. Clearly, Uncle Ted thought they were always on the clock. “What if we just, I don’t know, forgot?”
“Please.” He divided the bundle into two. “You don’t have to live with him. I do.”
No, he didn’t, but his situation wasn’t any better. And it was better than making cow eyes at the fiddle player who wouldn’t be interested even if he noticed Colton. “Let’s get it over with.”
