Emmy Lou and Krystal sang.
Saturday night and the stars shine bright,
You’re staring at me and holding me tight.
In your cowboy hat looking so fine,
Boy, you smile at me, make me wish you were mine.
Dancing in your arms and it feels so right.
No need to hurry cuz we got all night.
The chorus was a big explosion of music and harmony and pure energy.
Now, baby, when you kiss me, ooh-hoo
Oh, I like the way you kiss me.
Once we start, don’t want to stop. Ooh-hoo-hoo
And all I know is here we go. Ooh-hoo.
Back to the start, straight to my heart. Ooh-hoo-hoo.
No fighting this. No stopping fate.
Third time’s a charm. My heart can’t wait.
They sang through the second verse, alternating lines and, from the looks of it, enjoying themselves. When they hit the final notes and the last line of the chorus, everyone—Brock included—was on their feet.
Hank King looked ready to burst with pride. Surprisingly, so did CiCi.
Emmy Lou hugged her sister. “I guess y’all can stay for one more song.”
Four songs later, the Three Kings and Jace left the stage and the big band took over. Brock did his best not to stare as she made her way toward their table. But the minute Emmy Lou saw him, she lit up. That smile was for him? How the hell was he supposed to resist that?
But then CiCi stepped in, sliding an arm around Emmy’s waist and whispering in her ear. Whatever she said was enough to snuff out the light in Emmy’s gaze. In the minutes it took to find more chairs, it was clear Emmy was giving him the cold shoulder. Even wedged between him and her father, Emmy barely acknowledged his presence.
No one else seemed to mind the tight quarters. Being over six feet meant he took up a lot of space. Space he didn’t have with Emmy Lou so close. He was caught up in a battle of sensation. Her silky hair. Her sweet scent. The brush of her hand as she reached for her glass. And when she leaned back, pushing her hair from her neck, the curve of her shoulder and the arch of her neck had him finishing his ice water. He shrugged out of his coat, wishing he could yank off his damn tie and roll up his sleeves.
CiCi King kept right on watching. She was subtle about it, talking and smiling the whole time. But she was watching. What the hell was she looking for?
By the time dinner was cleared and the big band started to play, he knew leaving was the best for all concerned. Emmy Lou was putting on a fine show, but he felt the tension rolling off her. Since he was somehow the cause of the stress, he’d go. He was making his excuses when Shalene Fowler showed up with a photographer. “Brock, you’re leaving already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was forty-five minutes behind schedule.
“Can we get a few pics first?” She paused.
He posed while they snapped pictures of the crowded table, but the whole time he felt the push and pull between himself and Emmy. As soon as they finished, he was up.
“Can we get one or two of you on the dance floor? The Bremmy fans will love it.” Shalene smiled. “I know you’re in a hurry, so we’ll make it fast. Emmy, do you mind?”
If she did mind, she hid it well. “No, of course not.”
CiCi King chose that moment speak up. “She needs to stay off her ankle. You can’t afford to push it, with the tour about to start—”
“One dance won’t hurt a thing,” Hank argued. “Go on and get your pictures.”