Page 30 of Stick Around,
Her shoulder pressed against mine as we both watched the video. She smelled like she’d been rolling in sunshine, and I resisted the urge to bury my face in her neck and inhale deeply.
“It’s like you’re one with your inner horse.” It was really the only way I could describe what she looked like prancing around.
She grinned up at me, and fuck if it didn’t make me want to spend every day of my life making her smile. “Kellan’s going to start a whole series on hobby horsing on the ranch’s social media pages.”
“Of course he is.” I handed the phone back, careful not to accidentally brush her fingers.
She studied my face. “You look stressed. Like, more than your usual level of stressed.”
“I have work to do.” Even though I really wanted to stay right where I was with her.
She nudged me with her shoulder. “What do you like to do for fun?”
I blinked at the question, momentarily caught off guard. The concept of fun felt foreign. “I ride.”
She shook her head, twirling Thunderbolt’s reins between her fingers. “That’s work. I mean for actual fun. The thing you do because it makes you happy, not because you need to do it.”
“I have a ranch to run.” I crossed my arms, falling back on my standard defense. The statement usually ended conversations about leisure time or me working too much.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, undeterred by my closed-off stance. “Everyone does something just for themselves.”
“I go line dancing sometimes.” It felt like I was confessing a crime.
Her eyes widened, excitement spreading across her face in such a way that it mademefeel excited. “No way! That’s perfect!”
“It’s not a big deal.” I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. The way she looked at me made me feel transparent, like she could see straight through my bullshit.
“Can we go?” She bounced on her toes. “That’s exactly the energy I need for my training! Cowboys and line dancing!” She tried to do what looked like a little two-step in place, her boots scuffing semicircles in the arena dirt.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The last thing I needed was to see her move her hips. The thought of it made my pulse quicken.
“Please?” She clasped her hands together, pressing them under her chin like a child begging for ice cream. “It’s for my development as an athlete.” She gave the stick horse a little pat, and I swear the inanimate object was somehow in on this conspiracy against me.
I should have said no and retreated to my office where spreadsheets didn’t smile at me with hopeful eyes. But something about Quinn’s earnestness chipped away at my resolve. “Fine. Be ready by seven. They have a beginner’s lesson beforehand.”
“Yes! It’s a date!” She froze, eyes widening. “I mean, not a date-date. Just two people going to the same place at the same time for educational purposes. Thunderbolt’s education, obviously.” She clutched the stick horse closer, using it like a shield.
“Technically, he has no brains to learn.” I gestured to Thunderbolt, trying not to laugh. “But there are a lot of people who walk around without using their brains, so sure, we can count him.”
“Right! Exactly.” She nervously tugged at her ponytail. “So it’s definitely not a date because there’s three of us, and dates traditionally have two people, unless it’s a double date, which this still wouldn’t be because Thunderbolt is a stick, not a person, and I wasn’t implying—” She took a deep breath. “I meant we have plans. That’s all I meant.”
Her face had turned red, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, which would only make her more flustered. The woman who’d been confidently jumping around with a practical broomstick between her legs minutes ago was now tripping over her words because of me.
“Seven o’clock, and don’t bring the horse.” I turned to leave before she saw the smile spreading across my face.
The Sand Dune Bar was packed as the DJ transitioned into a faster track. The crowd on the dance floor fell intoperfect formation, boots stomping in unison, the synchronized movement rippling through the room like a wave.
Quinn had picked up the steps quickly during the beginner’s lesson, but watching her now as she executed a perfect grapevine, she looked like she’d been dancing for years. I’d stepped off the dance floor to grab a drink but ended up lingering by the bar, beer in hand, telling myself I was just making sure she was having a good time.
I tracked her movements, the way her lips formed the silent count, the flash of determination when she nailed a complicated turn after several attempts. She caught me watching and grinned, motioning for me to rejoin.
I shook my head, raising my beer in salute instead.
Quinn rolled her eyes and broke formation, weaving through dancers until she reached me. “Come on!” she shouted over the music, grabbing my forearm.
Before I could protest, she pulled me back onto the dance floor, while I hastily guzzled down my beer, and left the bottle on the nearest table.
The song changed, and cheers went up as a crowd favorite began to play. Quinn caught on to the new pattern quickly, mirroring my movements. When she stumbled on a turn, my hand shot out automatically, steadying her. I pulled back as soon as she found her footing, but my palm tingled where it had touched her.
