Page 25 of Bucked By Love

I take the two sodas. Claire picked out the most hidden booth she could find, but I spy her watching the dancers. I move in across from her and set our drinks down on the table.

She wraps her hands around her bottle and leans in close.

“That’s Maeve Belladonna Katherine,” Claire says with this hushed reverence in her voice. “Belleflower Queen of ‘94.”

I can’t help but grin. “You know your queens, huh?”

Her eyes turn to slits, and I wager I’ve said something personally offensive. “Don’t you?”

I shrug. “Guess I only have eyes for one queen.”

She blinks. She always looks shocked when I say nice things about her. Don’t know why. She’s had a lifetime of people telling her she’s the cream of the crop.

Guess it sounds different coming from me.

She presses her lips together and I can see her fighting off a smile. She looks away, watching the bar instead. “I wonder what she’s doing here. Most queens?—”

“Don’t end up in a shithole like this?”

Those smart eyes flash to me. “It’s strange. Admit it.”

“That’s her story to tell. But I’d watch yourself. She tends to bite the head off anyone who asks about it.”

Claire’s lips protrude, softly confused by that. It’s a cute look on her.

I switch gears. “Wanna dance?

She shakes her head. She’s curled her hair and her tight curls bounce around her shoulders when she does.

“What?” I press. “Afraid you’re gonna step on my toes?”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “I could dance circles around you.”

I’m going to hell for it, but—I can’t help it. I love getting Claire fired up. Something about that scowl of hers sends a heat through me I can’t quite put a name to.

Maybe it’s something about how, when we’re going toe-to-toe like this, it’s the one time Claire and I are ever on equal footing. So I poke the bear. I extend my arm over the back of the booth, tilt my head towards the dance floor, and tell her: “Show me your moves, cowgirl.”

If there’s anything that can get Claire going, it’s a challenge.

She gets to her feet, grabs my arm, and tugs me out of the booth. We head up to the patch of floor where they’ve moved aside tables and chairs. The lights are low, the band is fiery, and people are jumping around to the music.

Claire slips in close to me. She drapes an arm around my shoulders, looks me in the eyes, and fits her hand into mine.

Aw, crap.

Are we ballroom dancing?

I wasn’t prepared for this one. But I’ll take it.

I move us together, sweeping her across the dance floor. We move well together, but her gaze falls to the ground. Her eyebrows knit together, a look of deep concentration etched over her expression.

“Claire!” I call out over the music. She blinks up at me, startled as a baby deer at the sound of her name. I give her a wink. “Are you having fun?”

“What?”

“Fun! Are you having it?”

She scowls. “Of course.”

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