Mac laughed. “Probably. No, I didn’t hire any male exotic dancers. Even though I wanted to. But you did let me handle the invites, soooo . . .” She trailed off, attention slipping over my shoulder.
I followed her gaze to see none other than Dorian Masters, crossing the street from the parking lot, wearing cowboy boots, jeans that stretched indecently across his muscular thighs, and a plaid western long-sleeved shirt with pearl snap buttons. Completing the look, he had a pale-gray cowboy hat perched on his head. Jesus, there was even a navy-blue bandana around his neck.
“What the hell is he wearing? Is he going to rob a train?” I hissed at Mac.
She laughed giddily and clapped her hands, shouting, “This is going to be amazing,” as she ran toward the others.
Ian met the ladies in front of the food truck and said, “Let’s go, girls,” like Shania Fucking Twain. I closed my eyes, thinking this was going to be a long night.
Squeals erupted as everyone crowded around Ian. He gave hugs to Candace and Mac and shook hands with the women he hadn’t met before.
Resigned to my fate, I went and joined the others.
“Joanie, why have you not hit that yet?” Candace asked.
Bonnie nearly spit out her fruity-looking cocktail, and Mac cackled maniacally.
I shot my drunk-ass sister a glare. I should have made her switch to water an hour ago.
The rest of them were watching Ian and Becca two-step around the dance floor.
“What?” Candace asked dramatically as she pushed dark strands of hair away from her sweaty face.
It was nearly one in the morning, and she and the other women had been dancing and drinking nonstop.
This was the first time more than two people had been sitting in the booth at the same time.
Ian twirled Becca while she laughed, and I heard several awws from my side.
Of course, Ian was good at dancing. He’d been boot scootin’ boogying across the shiny wood floor all evening. After the other patrons’ initial shock, they’d pretty much given him space. Plus, Larry and Mac were good at scaring away unwanted attention from our in-house celebrity.
He’d insisted on buying the drinks tonight, his present to Candace and a contribution to her celebration.
And, honestly, the cowboy getup wasn’t even a turnoff. He may have surprised me, but he owned it. The jeans alone were a work of art, accentuating the muscles in his legs and the unfairly generous curve of his backside.
I knew it was just attraction—something simple and biological, primitive even. On a fundamental level, my body recognized that Ian was big and strong and capable of providing. I knew all of this even as a modern, self-sufficient, independent woman. I was being controlled by my baser instincts.
But it didn’t stop my eyes from seeking him out, from lingering and appreciating his beauty. I’d seen him on the television in my living room and at ten feet tall in the movie theater. He was handsome, striking—beautiful in a way that was undeniable, that set him apart from regular people.
And for the first time in my life, I was just like everyone else, unable to look away. It was frustrating and infuriating to realize that I was not immune to Ian’s face or his body or his charm.
I watched him spin Becca again, making her laugh, and felt my own smile threaten.
“Yeah, I’m with Candace on this,” Bonnie said suddenly, jolting me back to the conversation. “He is so obviously smitten with you. Why don’t you go for it?”
I didn’t know what the hell she meant by that. Smitten? Hardly.
Ian and I had mostly argued tonight. He’d tried to get me out on the dance floor for the “Watermelon Crawl” and “Cotton-Eye Joe,” but I’d declined both attempts.
“He is not smitten with me,” I insisted.
But Ian chose that moment to look our way, shooting me a grin and a wink. He may as well have called me a liar in bright neon lights.
“Uh-huh,” Bonnie said, before slurping the last of her cocktail.
“He’s after a challenge. Or he’s bored. I still haven’t figured it out,” I grumbled.
But what he hadn’t done was try anything. Ian hadn’t brought up his crush—or whatever it was—since that day weeks ago when we’d gone running. He hadn’t hit on me or asked me out. There had been no moves whatsoever.
