Rules of Protection(68)

I wanted to decline, but he didn’t give me a chance before he hauled me to the dance floor. I didn’t know how to two-step, but within minutes, Ox had me two-stepping almost as well as him. It wasn’t as hard as I thought, and after a moment, I wasn’t required to concentrate on my movements anymore.

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?” I asked him as he wiped mascara out from under my eyes.

Ox smiled at me as he pulled me closer, rubbing my hair to console me. “I think you’re cute.” Something hard in his pants brushed across my thigh, making me pull away from him. “Calm down, it’s a roll of quarters,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

To prove me wrong, Ox dug in his bulging pocket and pulled it out. “It’s for the pool table.”

“Oh, shit, it is a roll of quarters,” I said, laughing.

“I like you, Emily, but I’m not the least bit attracted to you,” Ox admitted gently. “Sorry, honey, but you’re not my type. You’re cute, but you ain’t that cute.”

“Most guys won’t say something is cute,” I told him. “In fact, I’ve only known one guy who ever—” Jake walked past us outside the dance floor. He glanced over at me as he took a seat at the bar next to Cowboy. “God, I’m starting to feel like I have leprosy or something. What’s wrong with me?”

“What’s the problem with you and Jake?” Ox asked. “He has it bad for you.”

“I think you’re wrong. Every time we start to get…uh…close, we end up throwing sparks.”

“Shit, girl, even electric eels can mate without stunning each other.”

“Yeah, but how?”

“That’s for you to figure out. If I were you, I’d take a more proactive approach with Jake. He can be a little slow out of the starting gate on a relationship, but you’re one of them high-spirited fillies that jumps the gun. You have to find something that’ll elicit a reaction from him. You know, make him catch up. I’d tell you to slow down, but that’d be like trying to stop a fast-moving train with my bare hands, and I’m no Superman.”

I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “With you, Ox, who needs a therapist?”

A guy wearing a Mossy Oak camouflage hat bumped into Ox’s shoulder as he passed by. “Sorry about that, shrimp. Didn’t see you standing there,” he said, laughing as he walked away.

“He did it on purpose, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Ox said. “He’s a spineless dick. Steer clear of him.”

“Who is he?”

“That’s Germy.”

“Germy? You mean Jeremy?”

“No, I mean Germy. That guy dips his stick into any available mud hole. Probably thinks the clap is a round of applause.”

I made a face. “Eww.”

“Yeah, none of us can stand the *. He and Jake played football on opposing teams. They’ve hated each other for as long as I can remember.”

“Really?” I smiled, feeling inspired.

Hmm. The jealousy thing didn’t work when I danced with Jake’s friends. He wasn’t concerned because he knew none of them were trying to pole-vault into my pants. But I might have set the bar too high. Maybe I need to rethink my approach.

Ox read my mind. “Girl, you better banish that thought. Toss it out right now. That’s playing with fire.”

“You told me to elicit a reaction.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t say cause an explosion. There’s bad blood between them. You’re going to incite a riot if you go there.”

“Oh, it won’t be that bad,” I said. “I’m just going to dance with him.”

“Jake hates that prick,” Ox said. “And…well…you know how a male dog marks his territory?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re Jake’s smitten kitten,” Ox said, smiling. “And he can be territorial. I don’t want you to get pissed on.”

“Oh, come on. Jake didn’t consider my feelings when he danced with Bobbie Jo. It shouldn’t matter who I dance with.” The song ended, and I shuffled off toward Germy…uh, Jeremy.

Ox laughed and called out, “When you come back with crotch critters, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jeremy stood talking to two other men at the bar. All three watched me approach. Silently, I squeezed in between them and sat on a barstool. Jeremy’s eyes traveled up my legs, reminding me to lock my knees together.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He motioned for the bartender. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The bartender smiled at me, probably recognizing a woman who’d never paid for a drink in her life. “Anything with a cherry,” I told him. Seconds later, he slid a drink toward me with a plump red cherry on top.

I picked it up by the stem, pulled it into my mouth with my teeth and ate it. Then I popped the stem in my mouth as Jeremy and his friends watched. Seconds later, I pulled the stem out and held it up, showing the neatly tied knot in the middle.

For some reason, forwardness always catches men off guard. That’s why Gina, Dale, and I once went through a whole jar of cherries practicing that move. I always beat them. They would’ve been proud at how fast I tied this cherry stem with my tongue. Worthy of a gold medal.