Page 56 of Dancing Struggles


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Oh.

Fuck.

Me.

Wait . . . this is my memory playing tricks. That’s what I tell myself. But things click into place. Those big green-gold eyes likeSarah’s. The mouth. That sweet, lush mouth. And that scent of fresh morning flowers that was sexier than it had a right to be.

Like fucking Sarah.

And that kiss the other night that rocked me down to the core. How Sarah makes me hard when I get too near. How she reminds me of someone.

Not someone.

Sadie. Replace the dyed black hair with long natural red tresses, and age her up and slim the baby face down.

“You’re right. I’m a fucking idiot.” I pause. “That was her?”

I know it was, but I’m looking for a way out of my idiocy and I don’t think it’s coming. Though four years was a long time, and in my defense, she looked different.

“Yes.”

I suck in a breath. “But she’s so angry, so defensive. We had a good time.” I want to adjust my collar because this feels so intimate and wrong to be discussing something I did with Sarah. “It was a million years ago. Her hair was black and fuckin’ short. Jesus, she was twenty-three. She looks different, more her now . . .”

It sounds stupid saying that as I never knew her, but somehow, it feels true.

“You—”

“Dakota, it was a one-night . . . okay, am I meant to remember all of them? It would have eventually come to me.”

But I’m wondering why the hell I didn’t put it together sooner. Why the fuck I blocked it out. Now, I see it, it’s plain as a hot summer’s day.

“It may have been a one-nighter for you two back then, but don’t leave them a tip like they’re a two-bit whore.” At that, Dakota turns and stalks off, the bedroom door slamming behind her.

Lawson slinks out.

“Way to go there, big tough sheriff.”

He plants his hands on his hips and stares at me. I stare back and raise my hands in the air.

“I didn’t fucking tip her.”

“Jesus, Leland.”

“I didn’t. C’mon. I . . . oh, fuck.”

“You did. Didn’t you? Why would you do that? I thought I knew you.”

I shoot him a narrow-eyed glare, grab my drink, and down it. “I didn’t fucking tip her. I did, however, have to leave at a God-forsaken hour and I left a tip for the room’s maid and a note for Sadie . . . or Sarah. She called herself Sadie.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Well.”

“Yeah.” Heat streaks through me and I think I might be blushing for the first time in my life over something I did with a woman. “She must have thought . . . shit. I mean, we didn’t do a bunch of talking, but it was . . .”

“Fuckin’ hell. Your face. It’s like you got hit by a train. You like her.”

“Of course, I do. And she was of age, so don’t even.” Suddenly, I pat myself down, making sure I have my keys. I pull them from my pocket. “I have to go.”

“You better be going to fix this fuckin’ mess. You understand me? You go and do that.”

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