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But it’s when he hikes up the sleeves of that shirt, revealing forearms that could make a Greek statue weep, that I know it really is Theo Morgan.
Ohmygod.
My beer slides out of my hand. I manage to firm my grip on the glass just in time. If it shattered, Theo would definitely look this way, and he’d definitely recognize me. Maybe it makes me a creeper, but I’m insanely curious. I want to be able to watch him and this entourage of his without him knowing I’m, well, watching him.
Because holy shit, Theo Morgan is here.
At Coyote Joe’s.
In jeans and a Henley and cowboy boots, which he appears to be wearing without a trace of irony. They’re brown, simple, a perfect complement to the casual-yet-obscenely-hot look he’s got going on. It speaks to me in a way it shouldn’t. I can’t deny the man is attractive in this new get-up, but that doesn’t mean I like him.
Then again, there’s that entourage. Who are those people? Why do they piss him off so much? And why does my stomach flip so hard when he puts a hand on the older woman’s back and gently leads her onto the dance floor, holding out his other hand to the instructor?
“Hi, I’m Theo . . . Waylon, it’s nice to meet you. This is my Mom, Ree, and these are my sisters Birdie, Shelby, and—Ava, hurry up, would you? You’re holding up the whole damn class! Sorry, Waylon, it’s our first lesson, I appreciate you bearing with us. My mom’s had some back issues in the past, and I told her to take it slow . . .”
My eyes are practically bulging out of my head as the music comes on and the lesson begins. For a wild second I wonder if Theo has a twin. Maybe they were separated at birth and due to some rare but weirdly feasible clerical error, they were both named Theo, which would explain why I’m watching a really sexy, apparently friendly guy who said his name is Theo shake his hips to a Kane Brown song.
There is no way this Theo and the Theo who has made my life a living hell at work are one and the same.
It’s a complete mindfuck, and I don’t know what to do with myself except stand there and stare, my mouth going dry as Theo and his family learn the steps to something called “The Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that Aiden’s running late, but I’m glad he’s not here yet. More time to take in . . . this.
This being Theo’s smile. He intentionally keeps running into one of his sisters while he figures out the steps, nudging her farther and farther to the side until she bumps into another sister, who then bumps into another sister, the three girls then turning on their brother in a bum-rush of ponytails and promises to “take off his boots and beat him silly with them.”
It makes him smile so hard I swear I see a twinkle in his eyes.
A goddamn twinkle. In my grumpy industrial trader’s icy green eyes. The ones that really pop against the blinding white of his smile and that delicious Henley.
He throws up his hands in mock surrender. His Rolex is nowhere in sight. “Just trying to show y’all how it’s done.”
One of the girls shakes her head. “You’re not the dancer in this family.”
“Try me.” Theo hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and executes this half playful, half hot shimmy-turn-step move that draws a whistle of approval from Waylon.
I don’t know whether to laugh or dart home to raid the toy collection in my bedside table.
I knew Theo was handsome.
I did not know he could be playful.
I definitely didn’t know he could look as good dressed like a country boy as he does in a five-thousand-dollar suit.
Does the colleague who takes himself so seriously at work actually not take himself seriously at all outside the office? It doesn’t compute. But here he is, clearly not afraid to look like an idiot as he listens intently to Waylon explain how the rest of the Boot Scootin’ Boogie goes, trying every new move over and over again until he gets it right.
And oh, he gets it right. Waylon puts on Brooks & Dunn’s eponymous “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” track (okay, now that makes sense), and not only does Theo Morgan know every damn word to the song, he crushes every damn step.
I mean every step. He sings and he stomps and he turns and he carves these tight little circles in the air with his tight little ass. His sisters snicker at him, one of them rolling her eyes in a clear expression of ew, stop. But Theo just keeps dancing, stomping harder, even grabbing his mom and giving her a slow, careful spin at one point. She laughs, he laughs, and something catches inside my chest.
