Page 49 of Small Town Boy

We come to a halt, staying stock-still as the crowd shuffles on and off the floor around us. Noel pulls me in closer, our bodies all but touching each other, and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

Ohhhhhhh…

A shiver slices through my body like a hot knife into ice cream, all my resolve melting away. I’m on high alert now, waiting, wanting for him to make a move. A kiss, an ass grab, something. Anything to let me know where his head is. If the fire that is currently in his eyes is burning through the rest of his body like it is mine. He needs to do it quick though, before I have a chance to start thinking.

Instead, he remains silent. Tightening his grip on my lower back, the heat searing through my clothing, he gently moves us to the slow rhythm of the song. It’s been a long time since I slow danced with anyone, and I’m seriously out of practice. But I follow his lead, just like I did on the last one.

Each new second feels like an hour though, an exaggerated amount of time full of wanting. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. I wonder if Noel can feel that—the heavy thump, thump, thump of my heart calling his name.

For a split second I think maybe I should make the move. Perhaps this pause is because he isn’t sure where I stand on things and doesn’t want to be the guy who kisses the girl for the third time when she’s not into it.

Only, I’m frozen.

Other than the tiny movements of us swaying, I can’t move. Every muscle in me is stagnant and unwilling to fire at all.

Except my brain.

That organ is running wild, every possible scenario—good and bad—playing out at once. I need Noel to speak. Or to kiss me. Or something.

Anything.

“Bronwyn…” he whispers, leaning down and pressing his forehead to mine. I suck in a harsh, deep breath, ready to explode. I’m not sure I can take another second. “I really like you.”

Bomb detonated.

“I…I’ve got to go.”

14

NOEL

What the actual fuck.

I slam the heel of my hand against my steering wheel, a list of unchecked emotions raging through me. Anger, confusion, frustration, sadness, and probably a million others taking over, one by one, then mixing together until I feel like I’m being strangled from the inside out.

Through that mess, one question keeps rising up. Where did I go wrong?

I keep playing it all out in my head. From handing her that Diet Coke, to laughing with her about Willa and Nash, to holding her in my arms and pushing her around the dance floor. She fit so perfectly against me, every inch of our bodies melding together like we were carved from the same piece of stone. I could have held her like that for the rest of time and been perfectly content. Never needing anything more than our heartbeats intertwining, the rest of the world falling away.

Only, I apparently was alone in said feeling.

I could have sworn we were on the same page. Was it a bit of a slow burn to get there? Sure. But I didn’t think I was misreading the situation. It’s not like she’d stopped me from kissing her. Or balked when I stood next to her tonight. Or refused when I asked her to dance and led her onto the floor. Nothing like that. Hell, she leaned in when I pulled her close to slow dance, her breath catching. I thought that was a good sign. Guess not.

“Fuck.”

Starting my truck, I curse again, trying to come to terms with my defeat. I’m not there yet, despite having been sitting in this parking lot for nearly half an hour. I don’t have it in me to return back to my friends after chasing Bronwyn out of The Giddy Up. And since none of them have texted or come looking, I’m sure they think that we left together.

At least that’s what I hope they think. That right now she and I are stumbling into her cottage, mouths fused together, that adorable denim skirt she was wearing hiked up around her hips as her legs circle mine.

Fuck, that’s the last thing I need to think about. All that’s accomplishing is making my dick hard, while deepening the ache in my chest that she chose to flee rather than hear me out.

Adjusting myself, I turn onto the two-lane road that heads back into town. The Giddy Up sits right on the Knox County line, making it close enough to be a semi-regular hangout, but far enough out that it’s not directly a part of Hickory Hills.

I’ve driven to and from the old honky-tonk more times than I can count, auto pilot taking over as I try to relax and concentrate on all the good memories the place holds. All-age events when we were younger, to that first official group drink once we were all twenty-one, the many hours lost to karaoke upstairs. That night we tried out a set of fake IDs.

I let the memories take over, chuckling at all the times Nash got up to sing “Friends in Low Places.” All his personality will never be able to compensate for the fact that listening to him sing resembles Scuttle from the Little Mermaid—so off-key that you can’t help but laugh.

I do just that, braking as I go around the large curve by the Russells’ farm. No sooner am I facing the straightaway again than something catches my eye. A car in the ditch. A white, four-door sedan.