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“Let’s go.” I push off the bar and motion for her to walk in front of me.

Sally digs her teeth into her bottom lip. Her eyes are soft now. “Thank you.”

“I ain’t going willingly.”

“Yes, you are. And I love you for it.”

My heart lifts.I love you too, Sal.

But then I’m crushed by a familiar sense of disappointment when it hits me that her words don’t mean what I want them to. Sally loves me as a friend. But I’minlove with her. Big fucking difference.

I watch her turn around and follow her onto the dance floor. Morgan Wallen is playing. Sally holds up an arm, swaying her hips to the beat, and I resist the urge to put my hand on the small of her back. On her hip.

She looksgood. Mostly because she moves with confidence. Makes me puff out my chest a little, knowing she’s comfortable enough with me to let loose.

But then she glances over her shoulder. I follow her gaze and see her glancing at Beck. He’s looking at us—a good sign. Sally, though, goes stiff, her arm falling to her side—a bad sign.

“Hey.”

Her eyes dart to mine.

“Stop looking to see if Beck is watching us. You look at me. Only me. Got it?”

Sally’s long, dark lashes flutter as she turns around to faceme. Even in her boots—they’ve got a good heel on ’em—she’s so short I still have to bend my neck to make eye contact.

“I see how this works for you.”

Is her reply a little breathless? Or am I just imagining it?

I step closer and smirk. “How so?”

“You’re…good at making a girl feel like…like she’s the only person in the room.”

“Take notes.”

She puts a hand on my chest and gives me a playful shove. “The cockiness doesn’t help.”

“Yeah, it does.” I grab her wrist and put her hand back on my chest. “There. That’s good. Let him see how much you like to touch me.”

Uncertainty flashes across her expression. Her eyes flick over my shoulder.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes up here, Sunshine. And the other hand on my waist.”

Sally hesitates, but then she does as I tell her. She’s stiff again—clearly in unfamiliar territory—as she puts her hand on my side in an awkward position. Her palm is cupped near my rib cage so that only her fingertips touch me.

Hell no. This middle school dance shit ain’t gonna do it.

So I grab her hand and move it to my belt, pressing it against my hip so that her palm flattens out. My body leaps when one of her fingers dips inside my waistband for half a heartbeat. This girl makes me weak in the fuckingknees.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be.” I clear my throat. “I like a good fondle.”

She’s smiling again, the discomfort melting from her face, and there’s a catch in my chest. “You a master of that too?”

“I am indeed. Which is lucky for you because—and I say this with love—you’ve got some practicing to do.”

Sally bites her lip. “Fondling is not my area of expertise, no.”