“Even if I didn’t see her as a sister and feel repulsed by the idea of seeing her naked, I don’t think I would date her. It would take a strong man to hitch his wagon to her.”
“Nah, she’s not the hitching type.” I shake my head, picturing a wild horse. “She’s the kind you leave wild and run alongside. You build a life together, side by side, rolling with the punches, but you never ever try to saddle. Like I said earlier. Anything can kill you. The worry will always be there. Why miss out on an amazing girl just because she likes a little thrill?”
“Hell, by the sounds of it, you might be the perfect kind of guy then.”
“Who knows, I just might be.” I push back from the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a woman to dance with.”
* * *
Shane
I sighas another guy leads Kaylee away from the table. I give her a small smile as she looks back at me. What’s that saying? Always a bridesmaid, never the bride? That might as well be me.
Persona non grata when it comes to dating in little old Rifle.
I slouch in the chair, resting my shin on the table’s edge.
Will it ever be me?
I pick at the label on my beer bottle, trying to ward off my depressing thoughts.
Would it be asking too much to be the woman guys want?
“What are you doing sitting over here by yourself?”
I look up and see Mick.
“Hey, you guys having a good time?” I ask, dropping my leg and sitting right in my chair.
“The beer’s been cold, so I can’t complain too much.” Mick smirks, crossing his arms and leaning on the table.
“Cold beer is always a positive.” I hold up my half-full bottle in salute.
“Dance with me,” Mick demands, straightening, holding his hand out for me to take.
“Excuse me?”
“Did I stutter?” He smirks.
“You want to dance with me?” My heart races.
“Yes, you. Shane Pierson. I want to swing you around the dance floor.”
I bite my lip, switching between staring at his hand and his eyes.
“Come on, Pierson, you know you want to,” Mick teases, wiggling his fingers to entice me.
“Fine,” I grumble.
I slap my hand in his, attempting to look put out, but deep inside, I’m ecstatic. It’s been so long since I’ve danced with a guy who didn’t seem repulsed by the idea of a relationship with me. Mostly, the guys around here either avoid me in the romantic sense or throw me a pity dance now and then as friends.
Not Mick. He pulls me out on the floor with purpose.
Once in the middle of the floor, the DJ puts on a slow song. Mick pulls me in close, resting one hand on my lower back, and holds my right hand in his, resting between our chests.
“You’re a good dancer,” I whisper after a few moments of silence.
“I’m sorry, what did you say? I couldn’t hear you,” he leans down, murmuring into my ear.