Page 61 of Cash

She’s also swaying her hips, getting a little saucy on the turns as I lead us across the dance floor. I hadn’t realized there’d been a permanent divot between her eyebrows until now, when the skin there is smooth.

Relaxed.

It’s like she’s finally let loose. Her lips are curled into a smile, the long waves of her hair moving over her shoulders as she turns her head in time to the beat.

She catches me watching her. Instead of calling me out, she smiles harder, bigger, the kind of smile that touches her eyes.

There’s a sudden, sharp drop in my chest. Goddamn, the joy I see in her face—it’s infectious.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m lifting my arm andtwirling her around. She laughs, the sound loud and real, so I twirl her again, and again.

On the third twirl, she slows the pace, spinning slowly while she pops her cute little ass in time to the beat. Someone hollers. I look up and see it’s Patsy, smiling down at us from the stage as she pounds on the drums.

Mollie holds up a hand, wiggling her fingers at Patsy. Then she lets me pull her back into my arms. The way we move now, it’s easier, more fluid. Mollie doesn’t look at our feet and instead looks up at me, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

Iwanna bite that lip.

The song ends. Everyone goes wild, like they usually do. But unlike usual—Sally loves to talk to the crowd between songs—Frisky Whiskey dives right into another song.

Anotherslowsong.

It’s like they know I’m about to pop a woody dancing with my new boss, and they wanna push me right over the fucking edge.

Roddy drinks his beer in a far corner, waiting for his chance to pounce.

I look down at Mollie and see she’s still looking up at me. My heart dips at the question I see in her eyes. She really wanna dance with me again?

Hell yeah, she does. Apparently, I still got it, despite not having danced for, wow, how long has it been now?

I step forward, starting the dance all over again, and this time Mollie moves right into the two-step without hesitating.

Don’t know why this makes me smile, but it does.

Maybe because she’s at ease with me? She’s singing her heart out now, making the dance her own while somehow letting me lead at the same time.

She’s afucking knockout.

When the chorus hits, she presses against me, going up on her toes to say in my ear, “Your turn.”

Despite almost blacking out at having her plastered against me, I ask, “My turn?”

“To spin. Give the ladies what they want.” She pulls back, lifting our joined hands.

“What’s that?”

“A show.” Her other hand curls around the ball of my shoulder. Then she pulls.

I pull back. “I don’t spin.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t. That’s how concussions happen.”

“C’mon. You gotta show me how legs work, remember?”

I let out a bark of laughter. Hard, genuinely surprised laughter that hits me in the sides and makes me feel light on my feet.

“Do it!” Ryder shouts above the music.

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