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Molly moved over closer to Lo’s blanket and started to dance, arms above her head. Apparently, the song choice didn’t matter much to her, because the violin duo had left the stage and now they were playing some random canned Reba from the speakers. But Molly was doing her thang.
Sounded like a good idea to Denver.
She walked behind the bunch of them, smacking West in the back of the head just for the hell of it—because he was the ringleader, she was sure—and snagged Elle’s hand. Together, they shimmy-stepped their way over to Molly, who’d found the closest thing to a clear spot for dancing. Elle spun out in a circle, releasing a laugh. Denver had to smile as she reached up to fix her loosened ponytai
l.
She was glad Elle seemed to be on the mend. They all seriously needed to have some fun tonight.
“Ooh, dancing. I can dance.” Lo popped to her feet, swayed, and giggled as she clutched her bottle. “Whoa, Earth is spinning.”
“Enough of that stuff, baby.” West plucked the bottle from her hand and took a swig himself, wiping his mouth. “Pure Kentucky moonshine, my friends. Sent from my uncle Levi. Uh-uh-uh, no touchy,” he said when Denver leaned back to grab the bottle. “You manhandled my person.”
“I could’ve done a lot worse.” She pried the bottle from him and tipped it back. Holy Christ. Her eyes bugged out as she returned the bottle. “What the hell is that?”
“Told ya, moonshine. Like mother’s milk.” He took another drink and let out a contented sigh. He spotted someone over Denver’s shoulder and raised the bottle. “Haywood, man, took you long enough. You get lost or what?”
Denver turned as Professor Haywood strolled over to them, making his way through the dense throng of concertgoers as if they simply didn’t exist. He wore a long coat and shiny shoes and didn’t look the least bit like he’d dressed to attend a country concert. “Or what. Traffic was a bitch.” He fist-bumped West, and Denver had to raise her eyebrows. Hadn’t been all that long ago they’d nearly come to blows over Lauren, but that was men for you. “Lots of people headed in for the show.”
“You’re here. Finally!” Lauren charged toward Ethan, nearly bowling him over. “Where’s your cowboy hat? And boots?” She pointed at her own hot-pink boots, paired with her cutoff jean shorts. She’d left the bus in sneakers, so the boots must be a new acquisition. “I told you that you had to be concert appropriate.”
“Boots make you concert appropriate? Then I’ll just turn right around and go find—” He broke off, his grin fading as his attention strayed past Lauren.
From her vantage, Denver couldn’t be sure, but she would wager his gaze had landed on one Molly McIntire, currently dancing with her hands cupping her shoulders and her eyes closed. She was still swaying on her own off to the side, lost in the rhythm of the canned Faith Hill filling the grandstand as they waited for Flynn Shepard’s set. He was notoriously late.
The notoriously drunk part was neither here nor there.
“No way, buster. You aren’t leaving just as soon as you arrived. Too bad. You’ll just have to make your suit work.” Lo wrinkled her nose and tugged on Ethan’s tie. “Seriously? Couldn’t you have at least ditched the vest?”
“I was at a professional event. But give me a minute.” Bypassing her, he went over to the blanket where Mal was camped out beside Lo’s bright pink backpack. She’d been carrying that old thing around forever and Ethan must’ve recognized it.
He quickly shed his trench coat, suit jacket, and the vest beneath—true, it was unseasonably chilly for July, but not that much—and made a tidy pile of clothes on the blanket. Then he efficiently rolled up his sleeves, baring surprisingly ropey forearms, and glanced at Molly again.
His focus on her was so complete that he didn’t pay attention as West dug another blue bottle out of Lo’s backpack and pushed it into Ethan’s hand. He took a drink, still watching Molly, and started to choke. The sound startled her out of her dance trance, and she frowned, her quizzical expression almost comical.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked in lieu of a welcome.
“I told everyone he was coming.” Lo tugged on Ethan’s sleeve, and he rolled it up again without looking at her.
“You smell like you fell into a vat of something,” he said, still staring at Molly. “Now that I’ve tasted this…stuff,” he paused, shaking the bottle. “I see why your breath is one hundred proof.”
“Moonshine. Isn’t it amazing? The buzz is just incredible.” Lo took a hit off Ethan’s bottle and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “So glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” he said, taking another drink while he watched Molly. Interestingly enough, she was watching him right back.
“I give them one in two odds that they fuck before the night is over.”
Denver startled at the warm, rich voice in her ear. Ryan pressed a cold cup of beer against her upper arm and she shivered, both from the cold and his statement.
Anytime he said fuck in her presence, her panties incinerated. How had she missed the power of his criminally sexy voice before they’d hooked up?
“You and your odds,” she replied, accepting the beer and taking a quick, bracing sip. It went down her dry throat like liquid gold. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Mark my words. They’re circling. In about two minutes, he’s going to slide his way over to her, all casual like, and ask her something stupid. Like, do you like country music? Or are your nipples hard from the breeze or are you just happy to see me?”
Denver snorted. “He seems a little smoother than that.”
“Let me clue you into something—a guy who has spotted the woman he wants isn’t smooth. If he can keep his game up that well, he’s not that into her or his dick hasn’t taken over yet.” Ryan was still speaking directly into her ear, his words only broken by an occasional sip of his beer. She was standing at high alert herself, watching Molly and Ethan, aware of Ryan standing close at her back, the heavy column in his jeans just a hint away from her ass.
