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Then again, I never asked them to make those sacrifices. They did it because they loved me and wanted to see me happy. They never asked for anything in return. I was the one who put all this pressure on myself to save, and fix, and provide. Yes, I was being the good son. The solid, stable sibling I always wished I’d had. But I haven’t allowed myself to live my own life—to have fun and fall in love and spend money on what I want and need—and it’s time to change that.
“C’mon,” I tell Mom, grabbing her hand. “Time to scoot these boots.”
I stop to have a quick word with Waylon. Then I shove my sisters out of the way so I can line up beside Nora. The lights go down, the music starts, and Nora turns to me, eyes wide and lips parted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nora
“Maren Morris,” I breathe. “Her new album.”
“This woman I know told me Maren is her current favorite,” Theo replies. “Figured now was a good time to give her a listen.”
He’s smiling, but his eyes are different. They’re fuller, the green so dark it almost looks hazel in the bar’s neon lights. I saw him chatting with his mom just now. They were cute, curled in close, Theo’s head bent so he could listen to what she was saying.
My heart skips a beat when I wonder if she was saying something about me. Judging by the way she shoots me a glittering smile as she sidles up next to Birdie on the end of our line, it had to be good. I hope.
I notice her eyes are the same color as Theo’s.
The music swells and Waylon leads us through the steps we just learned. They must have gone over this dance the last time Theo was here with his family, because they all nail the moves while I stumble through them. At one point I even step on Theo’s toes. He grabs my arm, laughing as he steadies me on my feet, and instead of being embarrassed in front of the Morgans, I let myself laugh too, my hand lingering on his shoulder, his back, his chest for a few beats too long.
It’s hard to focus on the steps when Theo shakes his ass as we make a turn. His sisters erupt in a chorus of “ew!” and “stop!” but Theo just keeps shaking that cute butt of his, making me laugh so hard my sides ache. I may or may not accidentally bump into him a few more times. And every time, he rescues me from my two left feet.
Every time, his hand brushes the underside of my left breast as he reaches for my arm to steady me. Every time he smirks, and every time I swoon a little inside at the flash of white that appears between his lips.
He is so hot in those jeans and that scruff it hurts.
The song ends and I clap my hands at Theo, his mom, and his sisters. “Y’all are good at this. I have some serious catching up to do.”
Ree waves me away. “If I can get it, sweetheart, you can too.”
“To be fair, Mom is kind of a legend when it comes to dancing,” Birdie says.
Theo nods, smiling. “You remember that line dancing show from way back when? The one on CMT?”
“I think so. The one where they filmed real couples dancing in, like, some random honky-tonk?”
“So awkward,” Birdie says.
“So great,” Ree replies with a grin. “That’s the one. My husband and I were on there a couple times. We could cut a rug.”
“Amazing,” I say, and I mean it. “Who doesn’t love a man who can dance?”
“Luckily I got my daddy’s gene for that,” Theo says with a wink.
A freaking wink. On anyone else, it’d be cheesy. But on the Bull? It’s beyond adorable, mostly because I’m almost certain I’m one of six people in this universe to have ever witnessed it, five of those people being his family. And now, me.
The next song starts—my favorite song from Maren’s new album, “Humble Quest”—and Waylon tells us we’ll try the same dance again. I’m still looking at Theo, pulse thundering, and I’m trying really hard not to throw myself at him.
I grab his hand instead.
His eyes go wide with shock. For a second I worry I went too far, but then he threads his fingers through mine, our hands palm to palm. I’ve been on my knees in front of this man and he’s been on his in front of me, but somehow this feels more intimate. More important.
I feel like we’re saying so much more, keeping our hands clasped as we begin to dance. His sisters must not notice because they go about their business elbowing each other. His mom moves smoothly through the steps with the grace of a ballroom dancer. And Theo—he guides me through the dance, my eyes locked on his feet as I mimic his steps. He sways his hips in a way I could never hope to copy, but I try anyway.
