Page 3 of Easy On Me

Then I’d spent about a year trying to make myself the easy woman of my dreams. I hadn’t succeeded – somehow I doubted I’d ever be simple and uncomplicated – but I’d read a lot about how to deal when you had a past like mine and I understood what I couldn’t live with.

Chaos.

Uneasy silence.

Lack of communication.

Not being heard.

Colt was structured beyond belief – with his mama, he didn’t have a choice – and he tried to listen to me. I know he did. But those silences. The way he flinched sometimes then shut down if I touched him wrong. I needed him to talk to me about that. And whatever sparked those reactions? Well, he had everything locked down somewhere deep, and he was not talking about it.

So.

I really needed a man who was easy out of the bedroom.

“What are we doing tonight other than eating artery-clogging chili-cheese dogs?” Marilyn glanced about the bar, blue eyes bright with possibilities.

“Line dancing.” I sipped again, eyeing the dance floor. Mama Nancy had a thing for all kinds of music and dance, and she’d taught me a ton of 90s country line dances. That led to me scrolling late at night, studying dances and learning moves. I shared videos, filmed people who were good at it – with their permission – and even added a few videos of me and Mags out dancing. I received more views than I’d ever imagined, which was kind of cool and scary all at the same time.

“Of course.” Maggie took a big swig of her margarita, smiling around her straw.

Marilyn’s long-suffering sigh morphed into a quiet laugh. She might not know the steps, but she’d get out there and shake it with us, stomp all over in those fancy hand-stitched Texas boots of hers.

Our food came, and I tucked in. The only thing better than a Big Cheesy – all-beef hotdog, homemade chili, lots and lots of cheese sauce, onions and mustard on a toasted open-faced bun – was a pool-hall chili dog from Thomasville. Mama Nancy and I still grabbed one sometimes I went home for the weekend, sitting outside in the sun and watching people trail in and out of the shops, cigarette smoke from the pool hall drifting over us.

While we ate, Marilyn and Maggie talked about her business plan and what she might need to do next year, tax-wise. Back in the summer, Mags had the brilliant idea to film some of her cleaning hacks and post them. Her popularity had exploded, and she had enough followers now that her channel had monetized.

As they chatted, I buried myself in cheesy, chili goodness and bounced my attention between the dancefloor and the pool tables. The two guys playing the table closest to us were damn hot and vaguely familiar. Well, the taller one was familiar, anyway.

He was gorgeous, too, with tousled dark hair, some nice stubble going on, and a mighty fine ass and strong thighs clad in faded denim. I tapped my nails against my glass. The table next to them opened up. Maybe we should play a little pool tonight.

By the time we finished, a couple had claimed the open table, flirting over each shot. She was playing it up, too, fiddling with the cue stick, biting her bottom lip, wiggling her ass when she bent over to shoot. And the guy with her was fascinated.

Shrugging off the lost opportunity – life was full of those – I led the way to the dancefloor, loving the thud of my boots, the swish of my jeans, the thump of the music in my chest.

Dancing made me feel free.

The floor wasn’t overly crowded, a handful of college boys goofing it up on one corner, trying to impress an equal number of college girls. And an Alan Jackson song was just starting, perfect for scooting and heel-toeing and dosey-doing. We threw ourselves into it, through that song and then Brooks and Dunn, Tim McGraw and Shania Twain.

I couldn’t resist a whoop when the familiar guitar twang rang out, signaling the start of Shania’s anthem. Marilyn gave up trying to follow, but pulled out her phone, capturing mine and Mags’s joy, stomping, clapping, twirling, and singing out loud.

Breathless as the song ended, Maggie and I collapsed into each other’s arms, giggling and hugging. What could be wrong in the world when there was music and dancing?

With a come-along chin tilt at Marilyn, I tugged Maggie toward the edge of the dance floor.

“I need a drink.” With my free hand, I tossed my hair over one shoulder. My heart still thudded in my chest from exertion and excitement, leaving me breathless.

“Let me buy you one.” The deep voice slid over my whole body, leaving tingles in its wake. Mr. Tall, Dark and Familiar stepped in front of me.

His eyes were blue, a mesmerizing contrast to that dark hair and thick lashes.

I paused. That voice. The rich drawl tickled my memory.

Where did I know him from?

Marilyn, eyes twinkling with intrigue, glanced between us, and Maggie squeezed my hand, lips curved in a big ol’ grin.

Tilting my head, I swept a glance over him, head to toe and back again. “What if I buy you one?”