Bella waves at us to get up and dance. Dash grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet and onto the dance floor. To my complete surprise, Dash doesn’t just know how to country dance. He knows how to do it well. He’s twirling me around the floor and it’s not long until we’re two among many. The dance floor is jam-packed. “You’re pretty good,” I say. “I thought you were from Boston.”
“And now Nashville is home.” He leans in, his lips near my ear. “Just like Nashville is your home.”
My chest tightens with the implications of his words. This is home. He is home. “Yes,” I find myself whispering, and meaning, with all my heart. “Yes, it is.”
And it’s pretty clear that we’re no longer talking about dancing. We’re talking about me staying here. We’re talking about us. The song blends into Aldean’s “I Don’t Drink Anymore,” and Dash and with him, the mood, shift to more fun and good times. Dash and I are now both singing along. Dash twirls me around and my gaze lands on the bar on the opposite side of the dance floor. My lips parting as I realize that Tyler, of all people, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, which is so oddly not him to me, but somehow works on him, is standing right there, watching us.
Dash twirls me again and I say, “Tyler’s here.”
“When a record studio is involved, that doesn’t surprise me.”
“He’s in jeans.”
Dash laughs. “You say that like he’s wearing a clown suit.”
“I feel like he is.”
He laughs again, and I forget about Tyler. The singer is really good, and I haven’t been dancing in so very long. And I’ve never been dancing with Dash Black. For the first time in a long time, I just let myself have fun. For the next hour we dance, we break and drink, and we dance some more, all without seeing Tyler again. I must drink more than I realize though because this time, when Dash and I head to the dance floor, I feel the vodka in my light-headedness. I sway and Dash catches me. “You okay, baby?”
I have a moment when I realize how normal him calling me “baby” has become. And I like it. So much. I like him. Too much for my own good. “I think I better go to the bathroom and freshen up,” I say. “Lemon drops are the devil. No more. Ever.”
He doesn’t laugh. He strokes hair from my face and tilts my gaze to his. “I told you, Allie, I got you, baby.”
A million emotions I blame on vodka wash over me, but he doesn’t expect the response I don’t have. That’s something I love about Dash. He doesn’t live the “I get what I give” mentality. He gives. Even if he doesn’t get. He slides an arm around me and I ease under his shoulder, feeling a little more stable now than minutes before. I think maybe all that was wrong was that I got up too fast, and with the heat of so many bodies in this place, paired with the drinking, it was just a bad combination.
I leave Dash at the door and head into the bathroom. I’m definitely a lot better now. I freshen up and step outside to join Dash. What I find is not just Dash, but Dash and Tyler. Standing only a few feet away, toe-to-toe, both stiff, shoulders rolled forward, it’s clear—this is not a friendly meeting. They look like they’re about to throw blows.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
I’m at Dash’s side, grabbing his arm in as many seconds as it takes me to close the space between me and him, and whatever is going on between him and Tyler.
“What is this?” I demand. “What is happening right now?”
“Stay out of this, Allie,” Dash orders, trying to pull me behind him.
“This is where the coin flips, Dash,” Tyler bites out. “This is where I do to you what you did to me. You’re not good for her. Step away before she gets hurt.”
Dash sways toward him and I step in front of him, my hands on his chest. “Walk away, Dash. What he says doesn’t matter. What we say, me and you, is all that matters.” But he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Tyler, and his expression is pure fury.
“What are you going to do?” Tyler demands, pressing Dash, and that is not a good idea right now. “Hit me?” he continues. “Does she know that about you? That you like to hit things?”
I have no idea what that means and I don’t even care right now. I just want this to end but it’s not even close to over.
“You’re pushing me, Tyler,” Dash says, his voice low, lethal, “and not to a place either of us want to go.”