Open Road Summer(37)

I look right back into his eyes, our faces close.

“My given name is Andrew Chetterson.”

With that, I laugh genuinely. “Really?”

He nods, almost proud. “The label wanted to flip it. More marketable or something.”

“I like it,” I tell him with a smile. It’s a real smile—not the one I use for most endeavors of flirtation. Chet is more than just nice. He’s a happy surprise, a pleasant distraction amid Matt’s groupie-wrangling.

I’ve got him locked in—I know I do. But, without warning, Chet pulls his arm away from the back of my chair.

“I’m not going to make a move on you,” he announces.

What the hell. I know when a guy is interested, and, up until now, Chet has been interested. I try to recover quickly, raising my eyebrows. “Playing it cool, huh?”

“Not exactly.” Chet smiles. “Look, Matt’s my buddy, and I’m not gonna mess with someone he’s interested in.”

“He’s not.” I can hear my own voice, and it sounds defensive—almost overwrought.

Chet nods to a spot across the room. “Then why does he keep looking over here to check up on us?”

Glancing in that direction, I see Matt and Dee chatting with an older gentleman in a crisp tuxedo. Dee speaks animatedly, hands moving, while Matt seems fidgety and distracted. Sure enough, he turns to glance at our table. I look away.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say. “He’s dating my best friend.”

“Now, we both know that’s not true.”

I cross my arms on the table. “Yes, it is.”

“Oh, c’mon. I know ’em both. He talks about her like she’s his sister. I’m nobody’s fool.”

“Well . . .” I scramble to prepare a cover-up lie for Matt and Dee, but Chet puts up his hand to stop me.

“I’m not askin’.” He smiles kindly. “So you don’t have to tell me a thing.”

I clamp my mouth shut.

“All right,” he says, setting down his empty champagne flute. “I’ve now had a few drinks, and the urge to dance cannot be stopped. Can I interest you in a spin around the dance floor?”

“Depends,” I retort, arching an eyebrow. “Are you going to boot-scoot or whatever?”

He takes my hand, leading me forward. “You’ll have to find out.”

Chet isn’t kidding. He literally spins me around the dance floor, with the confidence of a cowboy who’s done his fair share of line dances. Near us, I notice when Dee and Matt join in the dancing, and I know the whole room is watching the two of them. They give their audience a show, looking believably enamored of each other. It’s not especially fun for me to witness.

The fast song winds down, transitioning into a ballad, and I feel a presence beside us.

“Can we cut in?” Matt asks.

Chet winks at me, like he knew this would happen, and he slides over to Dee. They’re cute together, both blond and down-home charming. But my mind flashes to Jimmy’s face, and I wonder if Dee will ever look right next to anyone else.

Without a word, Matt wraps his arm around my waist. I place my arm around his neck, our free hands meeting at our sides. Close up, I can smell bourbon on him. Great. A cute boy and whiskey. It’s like a two-for-one deal on my worst vices.

“So. Having fun with Chet?”

Maybe he’s jealous after all. I smile. “I was.”

“Must be hard, fending off all the guys.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” I roll my eyes. “All those pretty girls who wear basically nothing to your shows. They run up afterward like: Oh, Matt Finch. You’re so dreamy. And you’re like: Ladies. One at a time.”

As I imitate Matt, I use a deeper, pompous voice.

Matt’s jaw drops. “That is not how I am. Those people are fans. They buy my music. I’m polite to them.”

“Sure you are.” I wink at him, the way he always does at me.

His mouth stays open, his eyes boggling, like he can’t believe I think this—which I don’t, really. I only said it to get under his skin. He’s under mine, and I enjoy returning the favor.

Matt scoffs, trying to recover. “Look, Chet’s a nice guy and a decent dancer, but can he do this?”

Before I can ask him what this is, he dips me low, my knees bending automatically. He doesn’t even give me time to react before pulling me back in, directing our arms so that I’m pressed against him, even closer than before.

“Trying to make Chet jealous?”

“What? No.” Matt grins, completely unembarrassed. “Why would I be? I mean, we both know you’re going home with me.”

“I’m going home with Dee.”

“Details.” I can feel his breathing, his chest rising and falling against mine. I’m struck by how different this feels from the last guy I was pressed up against. Blake is tall, with amber eyes and a sinewy form. His body moves with a slow grace, almost feline. Of course, his constant state of bodily relaxation is a direct result of marijuana. Compared with him, Matt feels solid. He might not be as tall—it’s hard to tell since everyone is taller than me—but his chest is broader, his limbs sturdier. There’s a density to him, so much that his body feels reliable, like he could lift me up or simply stay planted beside me.