That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(15)

Okay, tequila I can do.

But drunk and alone with Reid . . . not sure about that just yet.

“Here.”

We tap our glasses, tip our heads back, and chug, both our shot glasses making a clink on the bar top together. They barely have time to settle before Reid pours us one more and puts the bottle back.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” I ask when he hands me the glass.

“Trying to get you out on the dance floor.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You have to loosen up, Roberts.”

“You don’t have to get me drunk to dance.” I take the shot and slide off my stool. “I dance on my own.” Walking backward, I do a pretty lame attempt at a moonwalk, twirl, and start shifting back and forth to the music.

Reid pulls on the bill of his hat as he scans me from my boots up my denim-clad legs to my simple long-sleeve black T-shirt. His hungry eyes eat me up right before he tosses back his shot and stands too. I’ve seen those eyes before but only on occasion, and they usually come out to play when he’s had a drink or two. Wearing a gray henley shirt and worn-out hat, he looks like the perfect country boy, ready to stir up some mischief.

Just like the boy I met so many years ago, the same boy who once froze every single one of my bras, thinking it was funny.

It was not.

I quirk my finger at him, and for once he takes direction, striding across the dance floor and taking me by the hands. He pulls me into his chest and lowers one hand to my back while the other clasps our palms together. As “Love Shack” plays through the speakers, he guides me back and forth across the dance floor, surprising me with just how good he is at dancing.

He spins me out, then back in and continues to glide us around as a laugh falls past my lips. The tragedy of my father’s death fades away. The annoyance of my brother not coming home disappears. And instead, a new memory is made on this dreary day, a moment I think I’ll carry with me for a very long time, because this is the moment Reid Knightly danced with me.

“We need some new tunes,” he says, looking around. “This old stuff is fun, but I want you grinding on me.”

“Excuse me?” I laugh out loud, wondering if I just heard him right.

“Hold on,” he says, letting go of my hand.

Not really sure what I should be doing with myself, I sidestep in time with the music and snap my fingers at my sides. Yeah, I dance like a middle-aged woman at a wedding, and I’m okay with it.

Reid disappears behind the bar and heads to the back while the lights reflecting off the stagnant disco ball pass over my body, lighting me up. If there were more people in the bar area besides Marv, the local drunk, I would be feeling pretty damn stupid at this point. Don’t get me wrong: Marv is one of Port Snow’s own, and we take care of him when he needs it, but I don’t think he can even remember his own name. I have nothing to worry about.

The music stops, so my feet do too, but before I can go take a seat at the bar again, a club mix fills the speakers, and a familiar song starts to play. It’s sexy and far more modern than what we were just dancing to.

What’s this song again?

I twist my lips to the side, trying to figure it out, just as Reid comes bursting onto the dance floor. He spins me around and pulls my back to his front, then leans forward, his breath tickling my ear.

“Let me see what you’ve got, Roberts. Give me that good hip action?”

His hands grip me, and before I can figure out what the hell has gotten into Reid, my ass is plastered to his crotch, and we’re both swaying to the music, his hand sliding to my stomach, where my muscles contract from his touch, as my hand slides up to the back of his neck, where I anchor myself.

This is . . . new.

And I know he’s just having fun, but a small part of me can’t help but get lost in this moment, in his touch, in him.

Feeling awkward, I ask, “What song is this again?”

“‘Body,’” he answers, splaying his hand across my stomach.

Good.

Lord.

His palm is huge against my stomach and sends a bolt of electricity to my very core as his fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt, lifting the hem to just above my waistline.

Something inside of me stirs awake . . . a strange sense of hope. Hope for something I’m not sure I ever truly allowed myself to want until this very moment, as Reid presses up against me, his strong chest, his lips so close to my skin that goose bumps spread down my arm.

As we dance together, our hips synchronized, everything fades away: Marv, hunched over the bar; Barb, who’s returned from the restroom and is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at us; and the few visitors who peek their heads into the room. None of that matters because right now, I’m in Reid’s arms.

I spin, loop my arms around his neck, and take a chance, looking up at him—and that’s when I see it, his signature cocky smile.

Slowly his hands move from my upper back down my spine to just above my backside. He keeps them there for a few seconds before sliding one large palm down to my ass. He cups it, pulling me even closer, so I can feel every inch of him.

And I mean . . . every . . . inch.

I gasp and glance up at him, at his completely unapologetic face.

He’s hard.

Hard as a rock.

And huge.

“What’s happening right now?” I say, confused and turned on all at the same time.