Page 90 of Fixing to Be Mine

He kisses me again before pulling back with that devilish grin. “Let’s go raise a little hell, darlin’.”

And just like that, I follow him out the door, boots on my feet, his name on my heart, and every intention of dancing like I finally belong. Because he makes me believe I do.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Boot Scooting.

I can tell I’m going to love it by the neon sign in the window and the haphazard line of dollar bills stapled to the ceiling of the entryway. Inside, it’s all rough pine walls and old metal signs for motor oil and chewing tobacco, and it’s crowded for a weeknight, but I guess it is still summer. The stage lights are on, and guitars are on stands, along with the drum kit. On the front of the bass drum, it says,The Heartbreakers.

The bar is already half full by the time we get there. Locals are scattered between high-tops and booths. The jukebox is humming something slow and familiar under the low rumble of voices and laughter as everyone waits for the show. There’s a partition to the side that’s full of pool tables, a dartboard, and a line of stools at the bar, which is so used that the wood is worn with wear.

Colt’s hand doesn’t leave the small of my back from the second we walk in. It’s not subtle. Not a friendly guide-through-the-door kind of touch. It’s possessive. Intentional. And every time his fingers flex, I feel it like a spark under my skin.

People turn and glance at us. It’s not in a dramatic way, but I know we’ve been talked about.

London approaches us and gives me a tight hug and then swings her arms around Colt. “You came!”

“Of course I did. I’m your biggest fan,” he tells her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, little sis.”

She beams wide. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

I feel the same sentiment.

“Happy you’re here too,” London says to me then glances at the time on her phone. “Oops. I, gotta go!”

“Break a leg,” Colt tells her.

London disappears toward the stage with a final wink, and the overhead lights dim just slightly as the band starts to warm up. The crowd’s energy shifts, and it becomes more excited. Someone whistles from the back, and Colt chuckles beside me.

“She’s got herself a fan club,” he says, looking at the crowded room.

“It’s a Valentine trait,” I tease, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around me.

London steps up to the mic, the strap of her guitar sliding over her shoulder. She tucks her dark, curled hair behind her ear and flashes the crowd a smile that’s all cheekbones and shine.

“Hi, y’all! My name is London, and we’re The Heartbreakers! This first one’s kinda new, a song I wrote for my big brother,” she says, her voice clear and confident. “He’s my biggest fan, and he recently inspired me to write this love song. It’s called ‘Right One, Right Time.’”

I glance up at Colt, but he’s already looking at me. His jaw’s tight, but his eyes are warm. Wrecked really.

“Guess that’s about us,” I say softly.

“Seems like it,” he says, lips grazing the side of my temple.

The first notes of the song roll through the bar, honey sweet, full of slide guitar and yearning. The melody of the guitar doesn’t need lyrics to pull a person’s heart in. It’s free and light, a twinkle of a song that’s followed by her twang.

Colt holds out his hand. “Dance with me.”

I hesitate for half a second, but he’s already pulling me toward the open space near the stage where other people are dancing. A few other couples follow behind us. Some are older, swaying like they’ve been dancing together since Reagan was president; many are younger, around London’s age.

When Colt pulls me into his arms, the room falls away.

His palm finds the center of my back, his other hand clasping mine just right. We move slowly, barely more than a sway. Hiseyes stay locked on mine, and all my worries disappear. In this moment, I’m his, and that’s all that matters.

“You good?” he asks, dipping his head to whisper against my ear.

“Better than good,” I say.

“Love to hear it.” He pulls me closer.

The song builds gently around us—London’s voice strong and sweet, wrapping around the words like she wrote them just for this moment. I rest my head on Colt’s chest, breathing in his scent, the low vibration of his hum under my cheek.

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