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I didn’t realize he was so close; he’s just to our right, dancing with Billie Wallace. Thank God that girl showed.

I arch a brow at Mollie. “You gonna be the one to take me to the hospital if I fall?”

“You’re not going to fall.” She parrots my line back to me with such precise, steady wickedness, I laugh again. “You twirl. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You have some fucking memory.”

“You have some fucking nerve, not giving your dance partner what she wants. C’mon, cowboy.”

“Do it! Do it!” Ryder and Duke are chanting it now.

Glancing at the bar, I see Wyatt with a shot of whiskey in his hand and a big, stupid smile on his face.

Save me, I mouth to him.

He just holds up the whiskey and then downs it.

I am going to kill him later.

Turning back to Mollie, I sigh. Then I lift up our arms as high as they’ll go. I still have to duck, but I manage to twirl, my boots sliding a little too easily on the floor. Had ’em resoled recently, so I have to be extra careful.

Then I’m facing Mollie again, her smile bright. Genuine. Around us, scattered applause breaks out.

She laughs, a sound that sends a rush up the back of my throat. “See how much they loved it?”

Did you?

Apparently so, because when the band plays the chorus again a minute later, Mollie is holding up her arm. This time, all she has to do is bite that bottom lip again to get me to twirl.

She hollers. Because I have a death wish, I find myself egged on by her attention, rolling my hips to the beat.

I fucking love to dance. Makes me forget how tired I am. How overwhelmed. All the shit I have to do, the never-ending list of tasks that floats around in my head day and night, evaporates as I move.

Only I must roll my hips a little too hard, because suddenly my left foot slips out from under me. My stomach lurches as I stumble and lose my balance.Shit,not again?—

But I’m yanked upright by a hand wrapped around my arm.

Mollie’s hand.

I immediately grab on to her, the two of us hanging on to the other’s forearm like we’re doing some kind of secret handshake.

She looks at me with wide eyes. “You okay?”

“I am.” My pulse pounds in my temples. “Thanks.”

That smile. “Told you I wouldn’t let you fall.”

“I shouldn’t be out here in the first place.” I nod at the floor. “Dancing.”

“Yeah, you should.” She gestures at the bar, which is getting more crowded by the minute. Everyone’s watching us, smiles on their faces. “Told you they wanted a show.”

The song ends. Again, the crowd hoots and hollers and claps. But I just stare at Mollie, trying—failing—to ignore the weird, buzzy feeling that rises inside my chest.

First the lemonade. Then the shower break and sandwich. Now the dance-floor rescue.

Mollie’s looking out for me, isn’t she?

The spoiled, self-centered trust-fund brat is paying attention to me in a way no one else has in…a while.