Page 39 of Puck Block

“After you, pretty lady.”

My lips quiver and beg to smile at his feigned Southern accent. His hand lands on my lower back, and I’m instantly aware of his touch as he pushes me farther inside the establishment. After giving it a once-over, I meet his eye, and he’s smiling sheepishly.

“How the hell did you find this place?” I ask in awe.

It’s dark and moody inside with another neon sign placed above the bar. The walls are lined in bricks that are made to look like it’s a dilapidated building, but the wooden beams and shinydance floor look sturdy enough–especially with a ring of people line-dancing over top of it.

Ford nods at a few people here and there as we continue to walk toward the bar. Chills coat my arms when his warm breath skims my ear. “You know I always do my research. I thought it would be good to get out of Bexley U for the night so I could hand you the reins.” Ford wiggles his eyebrows and knocks his shoulder into mine. “You get it?Reins.”

I try not to smile. “I knew you’d have at least one pun with me dressed like this.”

He chuckles and leads me to the bar. “You fit right in dressed like that. We both do.” After I sit down in a seat, Ford tips his cowboy hat to me and then turns to leave.

I panic and grip his arm. “Wait! Where are you going? You’re just going to leave me here?”

Ford peels my tight grasp from his bicep. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

My mouth drops open at the same time my boots touch the sticky floor. “Are you seriously quoting me from earlier? Is this payback?”

The shadows along Ford’s flexing jaw catch my eye before he quips his lip. “Stay in character! We’re here for you to practice, Taytum. Why do you think I brought you so far away from Bexley U?”

I raise my voice when a crew of loud college girls pulls up to the bar and asks for shots. “Practice what?”

“Scoring a date, babe.” He leans in closer, and I get a whiff of his cologne. “With me.” The music switches to an ear-splitting country song, and Ford pulls me in close to whisper-yell into my ear. “Tonight, you’re not Taytum. You’re…” He thinks for a second. “Belle?”

“Belle? Like a Southern belle?” He can’t be serious.

He shrugs, and I purse my lips. “Fine, then who are you?”

My stomach dips when he shoots me his best grin. I know the girls behind me are staring at him, and he drives the point further when he crosses his arms against his chest and flexes his biceps. “I’ll be anyone you want me to be.”

His tone is beyond sexy, and it does something scary to me. Warmth flows to my cheeks, and my thighs clench.No way.I quickly shake my head. “I’m not practicingwith you.”

Ford and I share silence, and there really isn’t anyone more stubborn than me when it comes to him. Our little bubble is becoming tighter as more customers pile at the bar, and it’s hard to breathe the longer he holds my stare.

Ford is the first to sigh, seemingly giving up. “In that case…” He turns and taps the bar with his knuckle. Right away, the female bartender pops on over. She was practically salivating the moment we walked in. “Whiskey. Neat.”

“Yes, sir.”

I roll my eyes at the drag in her tone.

Ford leans back onto the bar and gestures to the dance floor. “Well, take your pick, then,Belle.I’ll be here if ya need me.”

I look away from his strong profile and skim the dance floor a few times before he leans into my space with his whiskey breath. “I know how you like to challenge me, so let’s see who can score first.”

I stomp my boot onto the floor. “That is not fair. You’re one of Bexley U’s most sought-out playboys. You can have anyone here, and you know it.”

“Not true.” I go to argue, but he looks away and says, “I can’t have you.”

My heart does a weird flip. I take my hand and press the heel of my palm into my chest for a brief second before rushing out onto the dance floor to run from whatever that statement just did to my insides.

I can’t have you.

I know he’s only saying things to get a rise out of me, but it totally worked. I survey the dance floor like a floozy predator and bounce back and forth between several guys. My stomach fills with nerves, but I can’t figure out why. My jaw tightens with frustration. I turn to look at Ford for help, but I’m suddenly struck in the chest with a heavy punch. He’s already surrounded by wannabe cowgirls wearing daisy dukes and crop tops.

A rush of adrenaline pushes me to latch onto the nearest guy, and I’m quick to turn up the charm. My spine tingles when his hand wraps around my waist, and I pray he doesn’t mention my glucose monitor.

“Hey,” he says, pulling me in closer. I turn and press against the front of his jeans. “I already know you’re not from Wilder U.”

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