Page 44 of Honey Bee Hearts

She grins. “Well, you’re welcome to come hang out with Naomi and me at Steele Mountain anytime, Fable. I’m so glad we got to meet before you become a permanent staple here.”

“Oh, I leave at the end of the month,” I tell her.

She smiles, like she knows some great secret. “Well, then you’ll have to come back.” She taps her glass against my beer bottle. “Also, I absolutely love your jacket.”

“Thank you,” I flush, getting back to my feet now that my leg has eased. “I’ll definitely take you up on your offer to visit Steele Mountain. It was nice to meet y’all.”

Naomi waves bye to me as I start to make my way through the crowded floor. Since I’ve been on the dance floor, the table area has definitely filled up even more. I have trouble getting through the crowd, trying my hardest to push without being rude. Someone sticks their leg out and I trip, not feeling it with my prosthetic.

“Sorry,” I tell them. “Sorry.”

“Watch where you’re goin’,” the man growls back rudely at me. “Clumsy bitch.”

I freeze. Suddenly, there are really too many people here and clearly, many of them are starting to feel more brazen. My chest gets tight, and I know I gotta get out of here. I need some air or else I’m going to have a panic attack right here in the middle of the club. I start pushing through people faster, a little rougher as I slip my way through and back to the door.

“I can get back in if I slip out?” I ask the bouncer. When he nods, I slide past him and back onto the sidewalk.

The chill air hits my lungs a second later and I stop on the sidewalk just outside the door to take a deep breath, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. The sheer number of people in that place is nerve-wracking. I don’t know how everyone else is doing it.

The music from the band filters out to where I stand, muffled, but the base sounds vibrate beneath my feet. They are really good. It’s no wonder they’re on the rise to stardom.

“Couldn’t stand it either, huh?”

I glance to my left and find Colt leaning against the outside of the building. “There’re so many people in there,” I offer as explanation.

He nods. “It gets like that when Green River Revival plays. People from out of town have started coming to see them. The cops always wait until they have no choice but to shut down how overcrowded it is, at least. So everyone gets to hear the band mostly.”

I move over to where he leans against the building and lean beside him, taking deep breaths to ease the tension in my chest. “Sounds like there’s something in the water out here.”

He chuckles. “What? Famous dust?”

“Well, everyone’s good looking mostly, too,” I point out. “Lots of famous people, all good looking. Must be something.”

The corner of his lips quirks up. “Am I in that category?”

I huff in amusement. “As if you don’t know how attractive you are, Colt King,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “You don’t seem the humble type.”

His laughter is warm, and it washes over me like a warm blanket. “You’re right. I’m not the humble type. I don’t believe in humility. If you’re good at something, you should scream it from the rooftops.” He reaches out and runs a finger along the fringe hanging along my arms. “Kinda like how you should be showing everyone how great you are at making stuff.”

“Cosplay isn’t usually recognized as a skill outside of the cosplay circuits,” I point out.

“Call me dense, but this ain’t just cosplay,” he says. “You’re making whole ass outfits, Annie Oakley. That’s skill.”

I glance at him, a smile curling my lips. “Well, I appreciate your recognition. I’ll endeavor to be less humble.”

“You’re good at a lot of things,” he says, leaning closer. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear he looks at my lips before quickly meeting my eyes again. “You’re sweeter than Mel’s homemade lemonade, and that’ pretty sweet. He practically uses the whole bag of sugar.”

“Thatispretty sweet,” I rasp, staring up him.

“You’re a talented fashion designer.” I scoff and look away, but his fingers are on my chin before I know it and he jerks my head back to him so I can’t look away. “Don’t you do that, Annie Oakley. I don’t believe in being humble, remember?”

His fingers are warm against my skin as I stare up at him. “Being humble isn’t a bad thing.”

“So you admit you’re good at it and should be humble?” he muses, grinning. “You know what else I think you’d be good at?”

“What?” I breathe. His fingers still hold my chin, and he leans a little closer.

“I bet you taste as sweet as that lemonade,” he rasps. “I bet you’d be real good at lettin’ me taste you. I bet you’d be even better on your knees for me.”

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