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“His name was Rodney. Not Rusty.”
“Oh,” she said.
“And I never said I wanted to sleep with you,” he said, hoping she couldn’t see straight through his bullshit. “I said I wanted to dance with you. See, those are two different things. For dancing, you usually keep your clothes on.”
“Depends on how you dance,” she said, cracking a smile. In her gaze he could see her trying to gain control. Her boldness seemed part of her protection. After Paul Milligan made the comment about Georgia growing up next door, he’d asked Tyler about his fiery damsel in distress. He now better understood the BMW, the fancy boots and jacket. He’d never been poor—quite the opposite—but he could imagine coming home to a town that had pigeonholed her. Not easy.
“Well, I suppose I could be talked into naked dancing by the right girl.”
“Too bad I’m not the right girl,” Georgia said, her gaze alighting and fixing on something. Her brow furrowed. “Gotta run. Thanks for the dance... and the lift earlier.” Then she slipped away, leaving him hungry for more time with her.
Closing his mouth, he turned, bumping into Claire.
“Quick,” she said, her hazel eyes filled with panic. “Dance with me.”
She didn’t give him time to answer, just grabbed his shoulders and steered him back to the dance floor. Reed obliged because he didn’t have a choice, and he could see very well the transformed Claire had two cowboys hot on the heels of her rhinestone cowboy boots.
“What’s wrong with men?” Claire muttered, moving them through the crowd.
“You know I’m one of them, right?”
“Well, yeah, but you’re not really a guy-guy, you know?”
He didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. He should probably be insulted, because though he had been known to shed a tear over a dying horse, he was very much a guy-guy. He could spit, scratch himself, and write his name in the snow like the next guy. “I’m a guy-guy. Want me to prove it?”
Claire stiffened. “What?”
He laughed. “You’re safe. I won’t ravage you here on the dance floor in order to prove my masculinity.”
Claire rubbed her red lips together and contemplated him. “You have the hots for Georgia, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “Too difficult.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say, but they come anyway.” Claire squeezed his shoulders. “You’d be good for her, you know. She needs someone gentle.”
“Again, you’re wounding my pride. I’m going to have to open beer bottles with my teeth for the rest of the night.”
“You know what I mean. You have a way about you. It stills a person.”
He couldn’t take offense at that remark. “Thanks, I think, but that doesn’t change the fact your friend will be gone after the wedding. No sense starting what I can’t finish.”
Claire nodded. “Yeah, that’s the way of it, but know what Georgia would say?”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Chapter Four
Georgia shoved past Reed, pretending he hadn’t made her stomach do loopy loops holding her in his arms, and headed to where Mary Catherine stood at the bar, tossing back tequila shots and flirting with a half-dozen cowboys.
So much for her decree about not waking up next to the toilet.
But then she saw who stood leaning against the bar on the other side with women twined all over him like the god Dionysus and got the full picture.
Jax Tipton.
Mary Catherine’s permanent crush and quite possible soul mate.
