Missing Dixie(11)

“Don’t be stingy, McKinley,” I practically growl once our company is gone.

“Don’t get wasted, Lark,” he answers while handing the flask to me once again. “I’m serious. Your brother will be pissed and nothing good will come of you getting hammered and making decisions you’ll regret.” Jaggerd’s eyes drift over my shoulder and I follow his gaze.

Cassidy is dancing with Gavin and doing her best not to look this way. I return my attention to the flask.

“Okay, party girl. That’s enough. Let’s dance.” Jaggerd pulls me up by the hand and maneuvers us entirely too close to Gavin and Cassidy.

“I don’t want to dance.” I’m pouting. I know it and I can’t even stop myself. Damn Gavin Garrison to hell.

Jaggerd snorts out a laugh and draws me closer to his chest. “Maybe you just don’t want to dance with me, huh?”

Leaning back, I sway a little from the potent mix of liquor and adrenaline before looking into his eyes.

“Not true. I just don’t want to be here right this second. Not this close to . . .”

“Him,” he finishes for me with a tilt of his head.

“Everyone,” I correct. “Right now I’m tired, these shoes are killing me, my boobs are squished together like sardines in this dress, and I’ve had my fill of lovey-dovey mushy mess for the evening. Thank you.”

“You’re full of shit, Lark. But I still like you. And for the record, you look beautiful in that dress.”

I glance down at the midnight blue silk wrap and I nudge him hard with my hip, forgetting it’s the one I cut a few days ago while helping out in his garage.

A hiss escapes my lips and the pain sobers me instantly. “Ugh. Ouch.”

Jag’s eyes widen and he glances down to where my hand has gone. His hand meets mine. “Your hip still hurts? You need to get that checked out.”

“You’re probably right. I didn’t realize it—”

“You step on her toes or what, McKinley?” Gavin breaks in.

“What? No. She hurt her hip in the garage a few days ago and—”

“I’ll check it out for her. Here.” Without warning, Gavin passes Cassidy off to Jaggerd and pulls me into his arms as if they planned the switch ahead of time.

“Let’s go,” Gavin says, taking me by the elbow. “I’ll look at your hip and we need to talk.”

Yanking out of his grasp, I walk off the dance floor only to come face-to-face with him as he turns abruptly around in front of me. It would be nice if for one damn second he weren’t so freaking gorgeous.

“Excuse me? Are you a doctor now? Guess you’ve been busy these past few months.” The liquid courage is in full effect.

“What the hell happened to your hip? I thought McKinley f*cking broke you. Your face just went completely white.”

You’re the only one with the power to break me, I think but don’t say. A few more sips from Jag’s flask and that one might have slipped out. Gavin reaches for my hip and I flinch, wincing at the reminder. “Nothing. My hip is fine.”

“Bathroom. Now.”

No, he did not just order me to the bathroom.

“Gavin Garrison, you know as well as anyone that I do not take orders. I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”

“Fine. If your hip is in such great shape, you can dance with Robyn’s uncle Elvis then.” Gavin tugs me to where Robyn’s uncle Richard, the Elvis impersonator who came dressed in full white sparkly jumpsuit getup, is stepping all over Robyn’s mom’s toes and wiggling his own hips for all he’s worth.

“Wait.” I dig my heels in and plant myself on the edge of the dance floor. “Might not hurt to at least take a quick look.”

“If you insist.” Without allowing me to argue any further, Gavin slips his warm, supple hand into mine, threading our fingers together and leading me into a back hallway.

I follow him, allowing my eyes to roam from thick dark hair I want to slide my fingers through, down his thick muscular neck, broad shoulders, to his perfect backside. He can rock a tux, that’s for sure. A pang of longing shoots through me when we step into the bathroom and he closes the door.

I’m trapped, in a small, enclosed space with a man who smells like Heaven and tastes like sin.

He removes his jacket and slings it over the counter. His white dress shirt is fitted tightly to his muscles, hugging and caressing them in ways I’ve been dreaming about for months. He unbuttons his top two buttons and I can’t stop staring at his neck, his fingers, his mouth. All of it.

“Gavin,” I breathe, prepared to beg him to open the door and let me out because I can’t do this.

“Let’s see it, Bluebird.”

He drops slowly to his knees, never once breaking eye contact. Other than a slight trembling in my hands and legs, I remain still—entranced and completely paralyzed by his proximity.

I swallow to make sure I can still function and then lift my dress one inch at a time until the gash on my hip is revealed to him.

“Jaggerd McKinley had sex with Cassidy before the wedding. You have any feelings about that?”

I shake my head even though it’s swimming from having him this close. “Um, yay for them?”

Gavin doesn’t even flinch at the sight of my black lace thong. Nor does he touch me in any way that even borders on inappropriate, which is almost brutally painful.