Page 32 of Butter My Biscuit

A sly smile slides across her lips. “A number. A kiss. Or to be dicked down. Any of them would make me happy.”

“You sure you’re ready for that after your breakup?” I ask.

“If that’s where the night leads me.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I say, holding her, smelling the sweet vanilla scent on her skin. It brings back memories, all good ones.

The song ends, and another starts back up.

“You’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had,” she says.

“Because we used to practice in my parents’ livin’ room,” I say with a laugh. “We were supposed to be world famous, remember?”

Her head falls back into laughter as I bring her out, twist her slightly, then add another spin. Every single beat is met with precision. Dancing with her as a kid meant holding her, and, fuck, sign me up any day of the week.

It’s more upbeat, so we slightly change our stance, picking up our pace with the crowd as we dance. Just as I’m getting ready to say something, a guy wearing a cowboy hat meets Grace’s gaze. She smiles at him, and I even notice the sparks.

“What about him?” she asks me, and then I spin around to get a better look.

He’s wearing a black cowboy hat and a black shirt with pearl buttons. His eyes dart in the opposite direction, and then I turn back to Grace.

“You think he’s good-lookin’?”

“I think I need to double-check that. Spin me again.”

So, I do. Grace and I used to go dancing every weekend after we turned twenty-one at Boot Scooting—the local bar in our hometown.

We move fluidly together, as if our brains were connected.

She giggles. “Yeah, he’s cute. I just hope he’s tall.”

“For your sake, me too.”

Grace once dated a guy who was five inches shorter than her, and after they broke up, she swore she’d only date men who were at least her height or taller. She’s kept that promise to herself for the past five years.

“Ooh, he’s standing,” she whispers. “And he’s coming this way.”

“Yeah?” I suck in a breath.

A second later, I’m being tapped on the shoulder. The guy is eye level with me.

“Scuse me, may I?”

“Oh, sure,” I say, handing Grace off to him. “Have fun.”

I walk straight toward the bar and grab another shot. Whiskey this time. It makes River smile.

Grace and the guy seem to be hitting it off because she’s laughing hard at whatever it is he’s saying.

“Your girlfriend leave ya?” River asks when she hands over my drink.

“Not my girlfriend. We’ve been best friends since we were in the womb,” I correct, taking a sip. “I’m single as a Pringle.”

“Really? Harrison, the single Taurus.” She grins.

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

“So, whatcha do for a livin’?”

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