Page 91 of Perfectly Grumpy

Usually when I get mad, I can reason with myself. That’s my reputation—Sheriff, the guy who thinks before he acts. But right now, logic has nothing to do with the urge to cross this room and put myself between them. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to think. I want toreact.

I stride past Granny, my gaze laser targeted on the back of Bart’s head.

He has no right to her. Not after how he treated her. Not when I’ve spent every day this week cataloging her every nuance. Bart doesn’t know the first thing about the woman he let go.

He turns around, looks me over, then frowns. “Where have you been? Lauren’s been waiting.”

I ignore Bart and face Lauren. “I’m sorry I’m late. Mind if I steal you away for a dance?” I hold out my hand, hoping she takes it—that she isn’t too upset with me for leaving her alone with Bart.

Her face floods with relief. “Absolutely.” And then she reaches for me like she’s a drowning woman and I’m a life preserver.

I lead her to the dance floor, never letting go of her hand, wanting everyone to see this moment—how she rejected Bart and chose me. Because this is the moment her family has been waiting for. All week long they’ve been trying to figure out if she’s moved on. And I’ve answered that question with one dance.

“I don’t know how to thank you for helping me,” Lauren says, tucking a curl over her ear. I can hardly breathe—she looks so stunning.

I slide my hands to her waist, feeling the silky fabric as she folds into my arms for a slow dance to Taylor Swift’s “You Are in Love.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, drawing her closer and following her rhythm. “Being the one person you can count on—that’s not a favor, Lauren. It’s a privilege.”

Her lips curve slightly.

“Honestly, seeing Bart corner you almost made me irrationally angry,” I admit.

“You…irrational?” she says, biting back a smile. “I’d like to see that.”

“Believe me, you don’t. Bart’s the one person who makes me forget my reason entirely.” I glance over at him and notice he’s still scowling at us. “If you’re uncomfortable, we can head back.”

“Actually?” She tilts her head, her hands tightening around my shoulders. “I don’t want to leave. And no one is more surprised by that than me. I normally hate prom night.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s always about the couples,” she says tiredly. “Even the year I came with Bart, I didn’t want to be here. Mom was too sick to dance, and I remember standing in the middle of this exact room, surrounded by noise and music and laughter, feeling like I’d never been more alone in my life.”

I know that feeling too well—standing in a room full of people and somehow being completely alone. The worst kind of loneliness isn’t being by yourself—it’s feeling invisible when you’re surrounded by others. I pull her a little closer, letting her know this isn’t the way tonight is going to end.

Our eyes meet, and suddenly everything around us fades—the music, the laughter, the entire room. My heart pounds against my ribs as I hold her, all my careful calculations vanishing. I’ve spent my life keeping my distance, checking my emotions, but with Lauren in my arms, I can’t remember why. For a man who’s built his life on logic and facts, this feeling is terrifying. I can’t predict it or rationalize it. I can only surrender to it.

As my fingers trace her curves, I wonder if she can feel my pulse racing, if she knows that in this moment, she’s dismantling every rational argument I’ve built against falling for her.

I want to tell her, but I also don’t know if she feels the same. Or if this is just part of the deal when I showed up as her “boyfriend.”

The lights catch the golden-brown tints of her hair, making it shimmer under the disco ball. “You know, we could make sure Bart never bothers you again,” I say.

Lauren smirks. “Yeah, but burying his body without anyone noticing might be a problem.”

I laugh. “I’m talking about something that wouldn’t put us behind bars, Sunny. Something that sends the message that he should never touch you again. Because the only man who gets to touch you now…isme. Do I have your permission?”

She hesitates, studying me for a beat. “What kind of show are we putting on here?”

I dip my head until my mouth brushes her ear. “Let’s make them talk.” I skim my hand along her waist lightly. “I bet they’re wondering what I’m whispering in your ear right now, whether I’m telling you how extraordinary you look.”

She laughs a little. “I’m literally wearing a dress that could signal ships from the coastline, Sheriff.”

“And you’re still the most beautiful woman in the room,” I say.

She stares at me for a beat. “You’re just saying that.”

I shake my head. “Sunny, I never say something I don’t mean.”

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