I decide to take my dad’s advice. To stop beating my chest like a fucking gorilla every time someone so much as looks Summer’s way. I decide to sit back at The Spur and soak her up. Beau and Cade grabbed the couches on the raised part of the bar. It’s the same spot they always take, and magically it’s never in use.
I think we’re just well-liked enough in town to warrant a special spot. Beau got here before Summer and I did, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else moved from the table when they saw him walk in.
That, or Cade scowled at them and sent them scampering off.
Either way, from where I’m seated, I have a perfect view of the space they clear for a dance floor on Honky Tonk Sundays. I’m pretty sure it’s just a way to get people out on Sunday nights—and it works.
Old school country music, line dancing, two-stepping. Chestnut Springs is a small enough town, but it’s not all cowboys and ranchers. Which is why it always cracks me up to see people playing cowboy dress-up on Sunday nights.
Eric, the financial advisor from the bank, has a huge silver buckle on his belt and is wearing a fucking bolo tie. This guy hasn’t set foot outside a shiny clean bank in years, and I know he grew up attending a private school in the city.
Laura is here, so obviously trying to catch my eye that I almost feel bad for her. The second-hand embarrassment is thick. Unlike Cade, who mean-mugs every woman who approaches him and turns his back on them like that might make them disappear, I have a hard time turning women away.
Not in a physical sense, because I’ve spent many a night snuggled up to a woman at a bar just because I feel bad shutting them down. Even though nothing more than that happened, of course, all it takes is one photo of me with them for it to hit the internet and speculation to blow up.
That said, I’ve never felt like I needed to shut them down. I didn’t owe anyone anything, and I wasn’t hurting anyone.
But watching Summer two-stepping awkwardly with Beau right now, laughing and stumbling on each other’s feet, my chest twists.
I’m not sure how I fell so hard, and so fast. I’m not sure of anything, really. My career. My health. But I’m pretty fucking sure Summer is a game-changer in more ways than one.
I’m also pretty sure I’m done being mature and watching my brother dance and enjoy my girl. I slam my beer bottle on the table and unfold myself from the couch. Cade gives me a speculative scowl, and I ignore him as I turn and stride to the dance floor.
I catch Summer’s eye from over Beau’s shoulder, and she smiles at me. My stomach drops. The tips of my fingers itch to touch her—and fuck—those lips.
We’ve been back for half a day and not kissing her is driving me crazy.
After an entire season of wanting nothing more than to be at home, I suddenly want to be on the road, only because I get to be alone with Summer when I am.
My hand clamps down on Beau’s shoulder. “I’m going to cut in now.”
He looks over his shoulder with a grin. A knowing grin. Fucking shit disturber.
Beau acts like a goof, but the fact of the matter is, you don’t get the level of clearance he has by being a doofus. Nah, he’s a hell of a lot smarter than he lets on. And sometimes I wonder if he’s a hell of a lot more fucked up than he lets on, too.
“Sure thing, baby bro.” He claps me on the back and holds Summer’s hand out to mine before turning away with a wink. Hopefully, to go keep a miserable looking Cade company and scare Laura away from talking to him too.
I step in front of Summer, sliding one hand around her waist and linking my fingers with hers before gazing down at her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She looks happy. “Having fun?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “I haven’t been out dancing in forever.” I lead her into an easy two-step, having had a lot more practice at country bars than Beau. I know how to lead without looking like a total buffoon. “It makes me miss Willa.”
“Who is Willa?” I lean down closer, wishing I could Thanos this place—snap my fingers and make everyone else disappear.
“My best friend. You’d like her.” Summer snorts. “She’s sort of the female version of you.”
“Maybe that’s why you handle me so well.”
“Handle you? Rhett Eaton, I don’t think anyone can truly handle you. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Fuck yeah, you are.”
She huffs out a laugh, and I feel her breath against my neck. The dress she’s wearing is tight and scrunched up over her torso, and then soft and flowing around her legs. It’s begging for me to flip it up and bend her over.
“I met Willa taking riding lessons. When I got sick again and had to quit, she kept coming to visit me in the hospital. Just never stopped. Sharing pictures, videos. I’m pretty sure we even watched you ride together.”
Her head tips down shyly when she admits that.
“Does she know about us?” Us. That was a stupid thing to say. There’s not an “us” yet. Yet. But I don’t need to terrify Summer while I work on that yet.
But she doesn’t seem scared. She just presses her lips together and looks up into my eyes. The song changes to something slower, and she automatically steps into me, lining our hips up and sliding her hand over my shoulder to wrap both arms around my neck.
“No. Well, not really. I believe a few weeks ago her suggestion was that I should—how did she put it—ride you like a bucking bronco.”
My dick twitches.
I lean down to whisper something in her ear but can’t resist pressing a kiss there first. “I approve of this friendship.”
She giggles and runs her fingers up the base of my scalp, through my hair like she always seems to enjoy. “Careful. People here are going to think the infamous bachelor Rhett Eaton is taken.”
I chuckle and spare a glance out to the bar.
“People are definitely looking,” she murmurs.
I pull one hand up and shuck her chin back toward me. “Good. Let them look.”
She just blinks at me. And I hate that anyone has ever made her feel like she isn’t worth being seen with. Like she’s some dirty secret to hide.
“They’re going to talk.”
“Then let them talk. You know I don’t give a fuck what people think, Summer. And there is no one I’d rather ruin my reputation with.”
With one hand still gripping her chin, I kiss her.
Fuck these people. Fuck Rob. Fuck her shitty sister. Fuck anyone who would make this woman feel like anything less than she is.
She stiffens at first—shocked—but when her fingers go back to moving in my hair and her lips slide against mine, I know I have her permission to keep going. To keep ruining my reputation, right here and now, with her.
If I were paying attention to anything other than the woman in my arms, I’d hear the hearts of girls breaking and the sound of my brothers whooping and laughing.
But all I hear is the pounding of my heart and the sweet sighing noise Summer makes when my tongue dances with hers.
We stand here. In plain view. Kissing. In the middle of a makeshift dance floor. No doubt raising some eyebrows. Making a statement.
Doing what we want rather than what we should.
26
Rhett
Summer: Wanna go for a midnight drive?
Rhett: Now who’s the animal?
Summer: Still you. I’m the princess.
Rhett: Fuckin’ right you are. My princess.
Summer: Okay, Neanderthal. Meet outside? Bring a condom.
Summer: Actually, a few condoms.
Rhett: I just bought a whole box. You should have seen the look I got from the cashier.
Summer: Great. We’ll probably be in the town newspaper tomorrow.
Rhett: What a headline that would be.
Summer: Gross. Are we going out or what?
Rhett: Wear one of those prissy skirts, but no panties. Meet at the rust bucket.
“What is this?” Summer places a gift bag in the middle of the table where I’m sitting, enjoying a coffee by myself. I’m feeling a little wrung out after saying goodbye to Beau this morning. He and my dad hit the road together to drive back to Ottawa, and while Summer’s been at the gym, I’ve spent the last hour wondering if how I feel about saying goodbye to my brother is how they all feel every time I leave for an event.
“It’s a bag, Summer.”
I wonder how Summer feels when she watches me get onto the back of an angry bull. I don’t know why, but I’ve never spent a lot of time considering how my job might make everyone else feel. I’ve been too busy not caring about what anyone thinks.
And trying not to terrify myself with the realities of this sport.
She juts out her hip and quirks her head, causing her thick ponytail to flop down her slender neck. The flyaways over her forehead stick to her damp skin after her workout. “No shit, Eaton.”
“Where’d it come from?”
I give her a lopsided smirk. “Me.”
She rolls her lips together, appraising me. “What is it?”