Page 132 of Catching Sparks

“Don’t think about it, Pops. Last time you hauled us all up to dance, your brother broke his ankle,” Bryce says.

Brody laughs. “That had more to do with how much rum he drank prior to dancing.”

“Plus, he’s not even here yet,” I add.

Garrison slides his fingers free from between mine, opting to hold my knee instead. The subtle switch draws my eyes up to catch his.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“Can I teach you?”

We stare at each other for a long moment as he finds his answer. I don’t want to push him too far too soon. If he’s truly uncomfortable, then I won’t move from this spot all night as long as he keeps touching me.

His tongue darts out, a brief flash against his full lips, before he finds his voice, a husky whisper that sends shivers through me.

“Yeah, honey, you can teach me to dance. Just don’t let me make a complete fool of myself in front of everyone. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Before I can think twice about it, I’m cupping his cheek and twisting his head so I can plant a big, fat kiss on his mouth. Love swells and crashes against me without a care about how easily I’m swept beneath its waves, left tumbling underwater with nowhere to go but up, to him.

I’m so in love with this man. Absolutely gone for him without a goddamn care in the world for what comes next. Not right now, right here.

The second our lips separate, I’m urging him up and out of the booth and taking his hand again to lead him to the dance floor. I hear Anna telling Brody and Bryce to follow us before the music is too loud to hear them.

A few steps from the dance floor, I catch sight of Darren slipping in through the entrance. His eyes scan the bar before landing on me and Garrison. He pivots and heads right for us.

“Ready to break the other ankle tonight, Darren?” Brody shouts over the music, snagging my brother’s attention.

Darren grins wildly as he moves toward him. “I’m just here to supervise,” he says, but I know better than to believe that.

I take advantage of his distraction and let the music drift over my skin as we move to the side of all the other dancers. The country song playing is quick enough to show Garrison the basics, but as a few of the people around us start showing off a complicated version of the two-step, he grows stiff.

“I can’t two-step to save my life. I figured we’d start with a basic line dance before I let you sway with me for the rest of the night,” I tease.

He relaxes, the tension in his shoulders disappearing. The twinkle in his eyes is still very much there, though. It hasn’t left all week.

“Go ahead, then. Show me what to do.”

The steps are easy. A few toe and heel taps and a couple of spins. He follows along eagerly, his lack of experience not making a lick of a difference with how easy it is for him to pick up the moves. It’s not surprising that he’s a quick learner. The man could do anything he wanted to without a sweat. It’s partially why he’s so arrogant. He has a right to be most of the time.

We’re a few minutes into the dance when Johnny rushes by, appearing out of who knows where. Brody and Anna are on our left, Brody having already taught her how to two-step as they show off to everyone. A rough laugh escapes me when I see my brother attempting to help Bryce complete a spin but instead getting met with a scowl.

Garrison chuckles when Johnny goes up to Rory and offers her his hand. She’s the only one of us who didn’t leave the table, but I can’t say I blame her for not feeling comfortable enough yet to join us all. We’re intimidating even when we try not to be.

“He’s going to get rejected,” I say.

My boyfriend reaches for my shoulder and steps into my space. “One thousand percent.”

“Should we go save him from the embarrassment?” I suggest, letting my hands glide up the solid muscles of his arms, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt until they come to rest behind his neck.

We both glance toward the table, and Garrison sputters a laugh. My lips part on air.

Rory’s eyes are wide as Johnny takes her hands and tugs her out of her seat. She mutters something to him that I wish I could hear before he’s shaking his head and pulling her into his arms, swaying with her in the narrow, empty space between tables.

“Think she’ll smack him?” Garrison asks.

I wait for it, but it doesn’t come. While she’s clearly reluctant, she stops fighting him and drops a hand to his shoulder, the other still in his grip.

“Shit. He’s never going to let this one go,” I say.

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