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“Clearly,” Blythe jokes.
“And you’re tipsy.”
“So?” Her eyes are big with anticipation like she can’t wait to see what a fool I make of myself trying to hit on her.Fakehit on her, I mean.
I rub the short scruff along my jaw and look around the bar. It’s usually pretty low-key, but with harvest over and slow farming season starting for folks around here, it’s packed.
“Well, offering to buy you a drink right away is off the table since you’ve already had plenty.”
“Okay,” she urges me to go on by raising her brows and stepping closer.
“And I’d probably notice that you’re here with a group of friends. But I would rather talk to you without them eavesdropping.” My voice lowers and I lean toward her. “But I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable by pulling you away from your friends just to talk to a stranger alone. So I’d ask you to dance instead. Only when a slow song comes on. So I can concentrate on your eyes. Ask you a few questions and commit your answers to memory. Study your reactions. Wrack my brain with ways to make you smile again because it’s the most captivating smile I’ve ever seen. And it’d be the perfect excuse to get to hold you.”
Her lips part but otherwise, she’s still as a statue listening to me. I lean in even closer, brushing my lips right against her ear.
“It’d be hard to stare at your perfect lips the whole time and not kiss them, but I’d hold back.”
Her breath hitches and she sucks in a breath and holds it.
“When the song ends, I’d wait to see what you do. Maybe you’d run away from me to get back to your friends. Maybe you’d stay in my arms for a second hoping I’d ask for another dance or your number. What would you do, hmm?”
I pull back. Barely. Just enough to see her reaction and wait for her answer. Her focus moves back and forth between my mouth and my eyes. A throat clears behind her.
“Uh, guys?”
Blythe jerks back and nervously laughs.
“Not bad,” she admits and pats me on the arm. Her hand freezes right on my bicep and her eyes dart to where she’s touching me. She dances her fingers along the tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of my shirt. “What would I do?”
I nod waiting for her answer.
“I’d probably unbuckle your belt,” she says.
Oh shit.
Her hand trails down until it’s gripping the top of my belt buckle. Painfully slow, she unfastens it and pulls my belt about halfway off. I look up to see Tripp with his jaw on the floor.
Did I die and go to heaven, or is this really happening right now?
I need to start thinking of anything that will make my dick go down, like the time I got completely covered in afterbirth helping a cow while she was calving. We’re in public for fuck sake and she’s literally taking off my belt. At least it’s dark in here.
She reaches both arms around my waist to the back of my hips, loops the belt back through all the way, and buckles it again in the front.
Huh?
She stands on her tiptoes to get her face close to mine.
“You missed a belt loop in the back,” she whispers and slaps her hand twice right on my ass.
As if nothing happened, she grabs her drink and walks off.
If I could turn around to watch her leave I would. But I’m frozen on the spot.
I look down at my belt where her hands just were. Then back up again, looking around to find out how many people just saw that. If there was ever a time I’d been this turned on and stunned at the same time, I can’t remember it.
“Dude,” Tripp finally says. “What the hell was that?”
Believe me, I wish I knew.
