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“So, what are you doing after?” the blonde asking me.
“What?”
“I was asking what you were up to later. I have my own place just up the road and…”
“I’m sorry. You seem like a, um, nice girl? But I’m not interested. Thanks for the dance,” I told her, leaving her there stunned, but I didn’t care.
I felt a magnetic pull to Cricket and immediately made my way to her. She noticed me coming and awkwardly contemplated the ceiling above.
“Cricket?” I asked.
She met my eyes. “Hmm?” she asked with an attempt at cheery.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“Because I saw you here alone.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said sweetly.
I sighed and fell into the stool next to her. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
We sat in silence for five minutes and the songs changed twice. When a slow song came on, I stood and held out my hand.
“Dance with me?”
“I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“Excuse me, but Ethan is a fool if he doesn’t take every opportunity in the world to hold you closely.”
She smiled and stood. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I led her to the dance floor and swept her into me. She was so polished, so refined, so unlike the blonde. I was baffled at her upbringing. I had no idea someone so elegant could come from such an interesting place like a cattle ranch. When I actually thought about it, though, every single one who worked on Hunt Ranch, down to the ranch hands, were polite, genteel and humble, even more so than the circle of wealth I grew up around.
I held her gallantly, respectfully, the way her demeanor, her confidence, her dress called me to hold her. I found myself gulping for air whenever she and I shared personal space. She stole away my sanity, every bit of my control and I felt frenzied, frantic whenever she was near and grieved the loss severely whenever she was not. The sensation was so new to me. She was more than lovely to me. She was painfully interesting, the best conversation I had ever had and I found myself wondering what she was thinking at times, instead of what she was wearing beneath her clothing. No one had ever affected me as she had. No one.
My left cheek rested against the side of her head as we swayed to the melody. We stayed completely quiet. I was unable to speak, too engrossed in making sure I learned her by heart. I felt so damaged holding her. My chest felt bruised, sore and hurt. “Hurt” was the perfect word to describe that misery of not belonging to her. My head kept calling out to me to save myself, to stop the torture, but I couldn’t, just could not, let her go.
“Cricket,” I whispered.
“No,” she spoke into my ear, then sniffed, her voice breaking at the end. “Don’t say it,” she ordered, taking a buried, raspy breath. “I-I can’t tell you why, but I can’t leave Ethan.” I nodded against her head and pressed her face into my shoulder. “I’m going to tell you something, but this can only be said once,” she began, and took another shaky breath, “I suffer for you,” she barely got out. “I want to be near you always. I’m falling in love with you and it’s-it’s a sweet agony, however, it’s still an agony.”
Instead of torturing myself by begging for more, I continued to dance with her, teetering on the verge of just throwing my forearm below her knees and stealing her away, taking her home, to a home, any home, our home...forever.
The song was too short and that cut to the bone. In just a few short weeks, I was almost in love with Cricket Hunt. In just a few more, I’d be a goner but couldn’t convince myself to protect my heart.
I leaned into her face and kissed her cheek, relishing in how soft her skin was, how sweet she smelled. My eyes closed and I decided to keep that kiss forever.
A tap on my shoulder shattered my perfect world, and I hesitantly left the warmth of her skin. I rose, fully ready to accept my fate, expecting to find Ethan, but instead I found a tall, broad-shouldered man in a fine, black suit and odd glasses. There was something familiar about him, and I studied him a moment before placing it. I remembered August’s words “weird old-fashioned spectacles.”
Suddenly, my world crumbled at my feet.
“Who are you?” I asked the man, frozen in fear.
“Mr. Blackwell?” he asked, confirming my worst nightmare. “My name is Dominic Griffin,” he explained, sending me spiraling. He removed his glasses and began polishing the lenses with a handkerchief. “I represent your father.”
When he mentioned my father, Cricket leaned closer into my side and grabbed my forearm.
