Page 69 of A Fighting Chance

His gaze is on me, his eyes sweeping over me, assessing me. “Were you aware of yours?”

I definitely was not—not even a little. Perhaps that’s why Dean had his run of me. Why I let him do whatever he wanted when it came to me. Maybe I hadn’t known I had options. “I guess you have a point,” I say, not wanting to offer the full spectrum of my thoughts on the topic.

He squeezes my thigh again, only a little higher than before.

We fall into easy conversation for the next several minutes before we finally arrive at our destination. I pull into a parking spot and turn the truck off. Neon signs are everywhere. They’re open, they’re serving Bud Light, they’ve got a mechanical bull,anda live band. All this in various colored neon writing.

I turn to Gentry with the biggest grin I can manage. All my teeth are showing.

“Why are you smiling like a psycho?” he asks, trying hard not to let his cool exterior crack into a smile.

“Because I’m excited, duh!” I say vigorously and louder than necessary.

“And now we’re yelling. Okay.” He rolls his eyes in mock disdain and opens his truck door to get out. “Wait, are you going to get white girl wasted? That’s what they call it right? When you’re all sloppy and take your shoes off, and there’s like a boob hanging out of your dress?”

“Okay, I might definitely take my shoes off at some point, but there’s no way my boob will come out,” I say, shaking from side to side to show him they’re securely in place.

He laughs so hard, raising an eyebrow at me like he needs more proof. He doesn’t need to worry, though; my boob doesn’t need to see a place like this.

At the door, we present our IDs and then push our way inside. It’s pretty full. Not shoulder to shoulder, but definitely busy. We head to the bar first, deciding a drink is the first item on the to-do list.

“What do you want?” he asks. He has to lean into me, brushing his lips against my ear and pulling me close so I can hear him over the music.

In return, I have to speak into his ear so he can hear me. “I want something sweet. And a tequila shot,” I say.

He pulls back just enough to give me a look of surprise.

I motion for him to lean back in. “I want to feel the burn tonight, Gentry.”

He nods and leans in so the bartender can hear him but he’s out of my earshot now.

I finally look around and take in the details of the place. There’s quite a lot happening in here. Given it’s the only decently sized bar not overrun by bikers for some miles, I guess that shouldn’t be surprising. In the far left corner, there’s a rise with pool tables. To my right, the mechanical bull is tossing a girl to the inflatable floor. The DJ booth is opposite the bar where we’re currently standing, and people are dancing, well, everywhere. The dance floor is overflowing into the tables and corners of the place.

“Here,” Gentry says. He places a cloudy drink in one hand and the tequila shot in the other.

“Can you hold my drink? I want a lime wedge and salt for the shot,” I ask.

He shakes his head, then licks his finger and sprinkles salt over it. Next, he produces a lime wedge and places it between his teeth, sticking it outward toward me. He lifts an eyebrow at me—a silent dare.

I nod for him to lift his finger to me and he offers it. Taking his finger into my mouth, I slowly begin to suck and work my way down it. Once all the salt is gone, and his eyes are fixed on my every move, I down the shot without hesitation and then reach for him. I bring his face to mine, slowly leaning in to bite the lime, careful not to touch his lips with mine. I feel his arms wrap around me, the heat of his palms through my thin dress. He presses the lime into my mouth and watches me suck on it before dropping it into my now empty shot glass.

He leans in close to me again. “How long do I have to stay here and pretend I don’t want to take you back home and watch this dress fall to my floor?”

“A little while,” I say, setting my shot glass on the bar.

He smiles down at me and takes a long sip of his beer.

“No shot for you?” I ask.

“Maybe later,” he says. “Do you want to ride the bull?” He winks at me.

“I’ll ride the bull when you take your shot,” I say, raising a brow in challenge.

“Well, I’ll definitely take a shot now,” he says. “But not before we dance.”

I sip my sweet drink, still unsure what it is as we stand there looking at each other. If anyone is watching us, I’m not sure what they’d think. First, we do a scandalous body shot, and now we’re gazing at each other like long-time lovers. I’ve got to get ahold of myself.

“Do you want to get a table to finish our drinks before we dance?” I ask him.

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