Page 126 of Past the Broken Bridges

With the amount of people here, it’ll be hard, but not impossible. “If he knows you’re coming, then he will.”

At least I hope.

I’m not sure how long we stay in that spot for, but it’s clear that Dixie’s anxiety is getting the better of her when she finishes her drink and takes mine. I watch as the petite five-foot-nothing brunette guzzles it down, earning a few appreciative glances from the guys dancing around us. She’s oblivious, the worry in her eyes growing as she gazes over the various faces.

Taking the empty cups and putting them down on the nearest table, I pull her into the middle of the room that people are using as a dance floor. “Let’s dance! You love this song.”

She nibbles her lip, letting me get her into the center of the crowd despite her hesitancy.

“Relax your arms,” I direct, showing her what I mean. “And smile. You look miserable right now. At least try pretending like you’re having fun.”

She feigns a smile that resembles more of a flinch, making me snort. I’m hardly the expert on how to get a guy, considering the one I like isn’t even here thanks to our circumstances, but Dixie has a lot going for her that Miles would be stupid to miss out on. If it takes a little encouragement to get her there, I’ll be her wing woman for the evening.

Three drinks later, which we’ve been fetching every few songs, Dixie is spinning around and dancing with guys who are most definitely not Miles. But she’s happy and having fun, so I choose not to point it out as the popular pop song plays.

When the guy who came up behind me spins me around, I stop facing the window to see a familiar truck pulling up outside. Stomach clenching, I grab Dixie’s arm. “I think Banks just got here.”

Dixie stumbles, giggling as one of her dance partners catches her. “Ooooh. What are we going to do?”

My feet stay planted where they are, trying to weigh my options. Nausea balls up in my stomach. “I’m not sure.”

“We could go out there and talk to him,” she suggests. “But then we need to find Miles.”

The guy still holding onto her arm speaks up for the first time since coming over to us. “Miles is with his girlfriend upstairs.”

Dixie freezes, her eyes widening as she looks between me and him. “What?”

He nods, having the decency to look apologetic for being the bearer of bad news. “They’re on and off, but she showed up earlier and we haven’t seen either of them since. That usually means that they’re, uh…preoccupied.”

I reach out for Dixie’s hand the second I see her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry, Dixie.”

She looks down, her cheeks darkening.

I squeeze. “We can ditch if you want. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to Banks anyway.”

The guy she was dancing with says, “I’m single.”

Dixie locks up, stepping toward me.

“Me too,” my dance partner says with a wink.

I cringe at the opportunists. “Maybe another time.”

Before he can reply, I pull Dixie after me toward the front door. I can hear her sniffling, which means we have a matter of minutes before the tear ducts open.

Once we manage to weave our way outside, the cool air blasts into us and dries the sweat that was sticking to our skin.

I look around. “Do you see him?”

Dixie sidles up beside me. “No.”

Her voice is weak. I turn to block her from everybody else’s sight. “Do you want ice cream? Soda? I heard about this one place that makes the best ice cream floa—”

“Oh God,” she groans, looking at something past me. “As if this night can’t get any worse.”

Confused, I look over my shoulder to see what she’s talking about. It isn’t Banks who gets out of the pickup truck I almost put into a ditch but Dawson. He stumbles around the front and toward a group of guys standing off to the side on the front lawn.

“I’ll go talk to him,” I offer. As much as I would hate to ask Banks a favor, it may be needed based on how Dawson is acting. “Maybe Banks is with him. We can get a ride with the—”

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