Page 19 of Starting Over with You (Beer League Belles #2)

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Kenni

My laugh is loud as Dean spins me out then back into his arms before we start two-stepping once more.

Our boots glide along the pine floors, and I swear I haven’t laughed so much in the last nineteen years.

There wasn’t a Tuesday when I was growing up that Dean wouldn’t be standing near me, ready to be my partner.

Sadie was in an on-again, off-again relationship all through high school with a dudcake, and Missy had a new guy weekly.

But Dean, he was my partner. He was all arms and legs back then; he didn’t pack on weight until he turned about seventeen.

Then he was a walking bull in a china shop.

But no matter, he moved me around a dance floor like a hockey play he’d memorized.

Some things never change.

Well, that’s a lie. Dean Moore isn’t the lanky teenager he used to be.

Now with thick, dark stubble along his jaw, a super-slutty mustache above his top lip, and that black hat low on his brow, he’s a cowgirl’s porno dream come true.

Add in the white button-up that he’s left open at the top and the sleeves rolled up along thick, veined forearms…

Yeah, I’m having one hell of a time trying not to drool.

Just like everyone else in this place.

I’m not blind. I see every neck breaking to check out his ass, because you can bet your sweet tit, I sure did. How could I not? His Carhartt jeans are tight on his ass and thighs, with that damn shirt tucked into them.

But that’s not all.

He has a black belt that he probably uses to tie hands to bedposts riding high on his hips, showing off his hot-ass tapered waist.

It’s as if he stepped right out of my favorite cowboy romance and asked me to dance.

And boy, can Dean Moore dance. His hips move with the beat, his hands are sure as they move me around the floor, and the way his boots step, I have to remind myself to breathe.

It’s insane how much he’s changed. I’ve seen him over the years, but nothing could have prepared me for those sparkling blue eyes that he has set on me right now.

The way his lips curve in a smirk should be illegal.

The expansion of his chest is mouthwatering, and hell, knowing I wrapped my whole body around him just a few days ago has me on edge.

Especially with how comfortable I feel with him, but that’s normal.

I grew up with him, just as I did with Sadie and Missy.

We had Sunday dinners together. I was there when his grandparents died, just as he was there when mine did.

He never made fun of me for not having a mom.

He was actually the one to say I could borrow his if I needed one.

When his mom passed, we made sure to support him in any way we could.

I went to all his hockey games with Missy and Sadie—not to mention he’s the only one I’ve been arrested with.

He took care of me, looked out for me, and cared about my well-being.

He’s my home.

My safe place .

We’ve always had a connection, so why does that feel different now?

But has it really been different since the moment in the back of that cop car? The second time. The first time, he was raging mad, but that second time, his eyes told me he wanted me. Just like they are now…

Am I making this up in my head? Do his hands feel different because we’re older? Or is his touch truly setting me on fire? Is the look he’s giving me sexier because I know what that look means? Do I want it to mean what I think it means?

Holy shit, am I crushing on Dean Moore?

There is absolutely no way.

I’m coming out of a shit marriage where I wanted so badly to be looked at the way Dean is looking at me right now.

Or maybe he’s just looking at me like a little sister, and I’m over here wanting it to be what I’ve always wanted.

God, I spent all these years in therapy, and still, I’m making something out of nothing.

I need to stop drinking. Or better yet, I need to stop dancing with him.

But I can’t move when his lips brush along the shell of my ear. “KenniLeigh, you’re thinking entirely too hard. This dance is easy.”

He’s the only one who calls me KenniLeigh, and each time, it causes a shiver to race down my spine. I glance up at him, loving how much bigger he is than me. “Sorry, I think I’m getting tired.”

His brows pull together, concern filling his face. “Wanna take a break?”

Not even a little bit. Thankfully, “Copperhead Road” comes on, and I know that’s his jam.

He lets out a loud yeehaw, lifting his hat up in the air, and I can’t help but squeal with excitement.

Then we’re dancing. It’s fast, it’s a blast, and we laugh like we’re the only ones in the room.

He dips me, lifts me, and spins me around like I weigh nothing, and there is something so hot about a man who can throw you around without getting out of breath.

It was never like that with Stratford. We had very vanilla sex, until the point that it didn’t get either of us off, and then we switched to oral, which was very quick and to the point.

Between Dean’s slutty mustache, his sinful belt, and the way those jeans hug him in all the right places, I’m pretty sure there is nothing vanilla about Dean.

More like spicy red velvet cake.

Mmm…I bet he’d wreck me in all the right ways.

Holy mother of all things holy! Did I just think that?

The song ends, and Morgan Wallen’s “Spin You Around” blares through the speakers. It’s one of my favorite songs, and I feel as if the DJ is plucking songs right from my head. Or maybe I’m sex-starved, and everyone knows it.

“I love this song.”

Dean doesn’t ask. He pulls me into his arms, once more taking my hip and hand in his.

I don’t even think about it; I lay my head on his shoulder as we two-step across the floor.

His heart is pounding in his chest, and I know mine is just as out of whack.

He moves his hand along my hip to the small of my back, pulling me in closer, and I melt into him.

When he leans his head on mine, I close my eyes and take a deep pull of his scent into my lungs.

Leather and mint.

Or my version of catnip because I’m two seconds from rolling onto my back, showing him my belly, and purring for him.

“Did you just smell me?”

I snort, but I don’t look up at him. “You smelled me first.”

“I tried to be smooth about it.”

“Yes, running your nose along my hair is so smooth.”

He chuckles against my temple, then whispers, “You smell real nice, by the way.”

“I took a shower.”

His body vibrates as I grin against his chest, loving the feel of this man in my arms.

“Better than the puke you were assaulted with, huh?”

“Eh, it wasn’t that bad.” I look up, giving him a side-eye, and his face breaks into a sheepish grin. “Okay, it was bad. ”

Our eyes lock, and it’s only him and me.

The music is gone, the crowd has disappeared, and all I feel is his body pressed to mine.

Then his blue eyes flash with something I think I can identify, but surely can’t be real.

I take in the darker ring of blue around his pupil, and the tilt of his lips.

My nipples strain against the soft fabric of my bra, and I’m entranced by him.

I can’t even blame it on the whiskey.

It’s all Dean Moore.

He is a beautiful man.

I lick my lips, and I swear he tracks the movement. My pulse picks up as we move to the beat, and I’m breathing harder now than I was when we were doing the “Copperhead Road” dance.

I need to step away.

But instead, I ask, “Why aren’t you married?”

He seems taken aback by my question, but only for a second before that sly little smirk moves across his lips. “Haven’t found the one yet.”

“After Skyye, I thought it’d be Missy.” I don’t know why I’m bringing up Missy. I know for a fact that neither of them wanted the other. It was a drunken mistake, but I think I need to hear it from his lips.

Something moves in his eyes as he shakes his head, sureness in his blue depths. “Missy was never the one for me.”

His words make me feel like he knows who the one is, but how?

Wouldn’t he have locked her down by now?

I blink up at him and then watch as his eyes drop to my mouth.

He licks his lips, and everything goes haywire in my brain.

I know how his lips feel—or better yet, I know how fourteen-year-old Dean’s lips felt, and now I want to know how adult Dean’s lips feel.

Jesus above, please let him kiss me. I can blame it all on the whiskey if I need to, but I really don’t want to blame it on anything but my pure need for the man who holds me.

Wait, can I kiss him? Should I kiss him?

I’m in no shape for a relationship, but what if he doesn’t want that? What if he only wants right now?

I don’t know what I’m doing .

My eyes shift up to his just as he’s reaching over to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You look like you’re ready to go.” Ha. If you’re taking me to your place, yes. “Let me drive you home.”

Damn.

I blink. “I can walk.”

He waves me off. “Not if I’m here.”

Dean takes my hand, threading our fingers once more before going to the bar to close out our tab.

I watch him, unsure how to handle what I’m feeling.

I want this man. After all this time, I still want him, and that can’t be good.

He laughs with the bartender before tucking some twenties back into his wallet.

He tips his hat, dripping sexy cowboy energy all over the place before turning to me and pressing his hand to my back.

“Ready?”

“I can walk,” I try again, hooking my thumb behind me. “It’s only a block.”

He shakes his head again, his lips set. “You can either ride with me, or I can walk with you.”

I arch a brow. “I’m a big girl, Dean August.”

His eyes make a small perusal of my body, and his lip quirks, making his mustache look even sluttier. “I can see that, KenniLeigh, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you go anywhere alone.”

Once more, the need to roll over and purr for the man strikes me. I try to roll my eyes, but he just laughs as he guides me to the door. Against my ear, he urges, “Come on, darlin’.”

I’m in a little lust cloud of Dean Moore when the door shuts behind us. A truck comes to a wild stop right in front of us. Dirt and gravel are kicked up before my sister rolls down the window of her F-150 and pouts. “Shit, are you done? I snuck out!”

I laugh, and I don’t miss the way Dean’s hand falls from my back. “Yeah, I’m beat. We tore that dance floor up.”

Missy’s eyes move to Dean, a small smile on her face. “Thursday nights are his favorite nights.”

I look up at the man who has captivated me all night. Is that remorse in his eyes? “You come here a lot? ”

He shrugs. “I get two Thursdays off a month, and I spend them here.”

“To get the ladies,” Missy singsongs, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“To dance,” he corrects, but then he shrugs. “And if I leave with a willing dance partner, what’s wrong with that?”

Why does my stomach fall at that? Was I about to be one of those girls? I really wish that were true. Maybe he does want what I want. A roll in the sheets and good times.

I press my lips together and nod. “Well, sorry for ruining your night.”

His eyes darken as he leans closer to me. “You were the highlight.”

I swallow hard as Missy calls out, “Okay, well, come on. I’ll drive us home.”

I’m unable to move, so I’m thankful when Dean steps toward the door, opening it for me. He takes my hand as I get in since it’s one hell of a step up, and then he squeezes my hand. “Goodnight, Kenni.”

His voice is rough, and it’s almost like he doesn’t want to say goodnight to me. Missy leans over me, waving her hands in his face, and he laughs. “Night, Missy.”

He shuts the door, his eyes still on me, and it takes a Herculean effort to pull my gaze away as Missy takes off. When I glance in the side mirror, I see him watching the truck drive away, his shoulders as low as his hat is on his brow. I have this urge to go back…and do what? I don’t know.

I do know that for the first time in my life, I’m bummed that Missy showed up.