Page 41 of Shockproof

“Oh, we will…” He flashes a crooked smile at the bouncy female beside him. “Won’t we, baby?”

More theatrical giggles escape her granting me the perfect reason to abandon the acquaintance I just “happened” to run into. Locking eyes with Blu, I declare, “I’m takin’ Angel Cake home.”

My second in command nods his understanding. “We’ll be right behind you.” He swings his face to where the line dancing has dispersed but Aviva and Lila have started to grind on one another. “Alright, maybe notrightbehind you. I kind of need to be behindthat,” a finger point is swiftly given at the same time the drive is slipped into my pocket, “first.”

Spotting Arley doing her best to dance alone nearby creates an ache in my chest that faithfully follows the same tempo of the Little Big Town song that’s hitting a little too close to home at the moment.

Lord have mercy if my woman would’ve been drinking wine, beer,andwhiskey tonight.

I’d definitely be holding her hair back.

Probably in the parking lot while she puked next to my truck.

Navigating around the few people in our way with Blu on my heels has me arriving in front of Arley with only another minute or so left in the song. As easy as it would be to take her by the hand and disappear out of the building, an unfamiliar desperation pulsates in her wide-eyed gaze.

Commands I wind both arms around her hips.

Use one hand to possessively palm her ass.

Rest my forehead against hers and sing along to the easy chorus.

Angel Cake’s hands rhythmically explore my abs and chest only to eventually cup my face in such an enticing nature that I can’t keep my mouth from pouncing hers. Tequila turns what should’ve been a quick two-step of our tongues into aDancing with the Starsworthy tango. While the original plan was to promptly get her out of building, into my truck, and safely home, the fury and fire at which her mouth is fighting mine has me revising the idea.

Temporarily unlocking our lips to growl, “Keep that shit up, baby, and we won’t make it to the backseat of my truck.”

She steals a teasing lick of my tongue and sexily taunts. “Bathroom stall instead, Cowboy?”

Uncontrollable hunger unleashes an unholy rumble. “You know you deserve better than that, Angel Cake.”

“Can you just…” her fingertips anxiously tug at the bottom of my shirt, “treat me like you would anyone else?”

The firmness in my tone is nonnegotiable. “No.”

“Just this once?”

“No.”

“But-”

“I’m not listenin’.”

“But-”

“And I’m not arguin’.”

“But I am!” Having her rip herself out of my grip is equally heartbreaking and infuriating. “I wanna argue!”

Thankfully, our tiff is hard to decipher to the outside world due to the Jordan Davis song reverberating around the room. “Why?”

“Because I want us to be like other couples!”

My mouth doesn’t even have time to consider moving.

“Because I wannabelike other people!”

Even through the upbeat country pop her pain is unmistakable.

“Because I don’t always wanna be so fucking different!”

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