Page 56 of Courtside

“Really?” He looked genuinely confused, if not a bit concerned. “Why not?”

She swallowed against the harsh tightening in her throat. How was she supposed to explain that in high school when everyone else was figuring out how to survive awkward dinners at Vinny’s and making out in the back row of the movie theater, Sage had been lying to her mom about going to sleepovers and waiting by her phone in the off chance that the guy she’d been infatuated withmightask her to rendezvous in an abandoned parking lot?

She couldn’t say that. Instead she shrugged. “Hook-ups work fine for me.”

Sage watched his face carefully, like a part of her expected him to recoil. But instead he just nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t think I could do that,” he admitted, his voice softening. “When I want a woman enough to hook-up, there’s no way in hell I can just walk away.” His eyes shut for a moment, and her attention was pulled to the way his long lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones. “Once I have her, I won’t want to give her up.”

Sage didn’t know how to respond to that, or why his admission made her skin itch and her neck heat. Reaching for her drink, she took a long sip, trying to focus on the burn of the tequila against the back of her tongue.

“Want to dance?”

She blinked. “What?”

David nodded toward the band, who was now playing country covers only about ten feet from their table. How Sage hadn’t noticed the loud, amplified music was beyond her.

“I asked you if you want to dance with me, Lefty.”

Sage glanced over her shoulder at the wooden dance floor, where a few other couples were already two-stepping. Her gaze returned to David, who watched her with a patient, fond smile.

“Fine.” She tried to sound like she was just doing it for him, like she was indulginghisneed to dance with her. But based on how David watched her as he reached for her hand and pulled them both to standing, he could see right through her.

She let him lead them to an open spot, the music swallowing the air around them as he turned and tugged her toward him. It was such a nonchalant move, but it sent her stumbling forward, forcing her hands up to brace herself against his broad chest.

Before she had a chance to enjoy the feeling of him under her fingertips, he firmly grabbed her right hand, pulling it out and away from their bodies, and, at the same time, she felt his other hand trail down her back before settling at the base of her spine.

With a gentle push of the hand on her back, they were moving.

She couldn’t do much beyond following David’s movements. He moved almost lazily, guiding her with the firm, steady pressure of his hand. She knew the steps well enough —short and short, long— but she’d never danced with someone who took the entire weight of decision making off of her shoulders.

Their bodies were flush, her chest pressed to his and her face at the perfect height that, if she wanted to, she could turn and press her nose into the spot where his neck met the curved muscle of his shoulder.

She could catch a hint of his smell — a combination of that almost beachy scent and a soap that was common enough that she should recognize it. She could see the way his Adam’s apple dipped as they moved and felt his slow, deep breaths against her. He was still in her ridiculous ‘Kale Yeah!’ t-shirt, but it didn’t matter. Not when the warm glow of the lights hit his forearms like something out of a fantasy.

In pulling her against his body, one of David’s legs had slipped between hers, leaving her practically straddling one of his thick thighs. The seam of her jeans rubbing against his leg was doing absolutely indecent things to her body.

Was this an elaborate sex dream?

It was a familiar scene: the brooding, quiet man asks the girl to dance. His effortlessly sexy dance moves make her come in her Levi’s. He whispers naughty things in her ear in his low, throaty voice, and then they go outside to his truck and she rides him in the back seat.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy, or something like that.

But David was wearing soft joggers and Nike sneakers, not Wranglers and boots. And Sage, in her baggy jeans and single French braid, looked nothing like the protagonists from the novels she read.

Yep. Not a dream.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” David asked, his mouth close enough to her ear that she could feel the whisper of his breath against her skin.

Sage forced an exhale from her lips. She needed to get a hold of herself before she actually started grinding against his leg like a horny teenager. “Staying here,” she said, rising on her toes so she could speak against his ear and be heard over the music. “Didn’t think it was worth it to fly back to Cali for only five days.”

She also wasn’t entirely ready to subject herself to her mother, but that was another conversation.

“Hm.” It was a low hum that felt like it vibrated her bones. She shivered. “What would you normally do for the holiday if you were home?”

Sage smiled, temporarily distracted as she thought of the traditions that had emerged in her family over the years. “On Christmas Eve, we always gift books to each other and read while we eat tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Then on Christmas, we do a ‘make your favorites’ feast rather than traditional holiday food. Everyone makes their favorite dish, and then we fill in the sides as needed to make sure it’s a balanced meal.”

She felt his chuckle rumble in his chest. “Sounds very much like you,” he said.

Her cheeks warmed. “What about you? What are your plans?”

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