The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

I turn my face away with a dry smile, pretending to lose myself in the music.

Really, I just don’t want Marty to see me tearing up.

Besides filling me with a hundred new questions about what Weston will ever feel, it’s hard to look at my brother and feel whole.

He’s cared for Gram for years by himself, always sacrificing his weekends off to freshen up the paint in a guestroom or do a quick gutter repair. Me being here eight weeks during Gram’s health crisis doesn’t compare to that.

The song ends before my eyes open and he asks, “You thirsty?”

“Oh, yeah. I could use something to drink.” I look at him.

“Pop? Beer? Wine?”

“Whatever you’re having,” I say.

“One Coke with enough rum to choke a horse coming up then,” he says with a devilish grin.

Even though I roll my eyes, my mind turns over, racing a thousand miles per minute. None of my jittery thoughts have anything to do with what I want to drink.

Weston takes a break from the dance floor to rejoin Grady, Willow, and the kids at their table.

My focus follows his smiling face.

Just what would Weston McKnight think if I decided to stay?

What would he give me if I gave him the chance to become irrevocably his?

Could I be the love of his life—or just a prize pig he’d tire of and push away?

18

Don’t Go Bacon My Heart (Weston)

With everyone else sipping on a beer between raucous laughs, I’m the odd man out, holding a sea-green ginger ale bottle.

I’m guessing Shelly noticed, too, even though she doesn’t show it, laughing her sweet ass off at Willow’s retelling of that time we took Bruce for a ride to Wyoming and almost wound up tiger bait.

Thank fuck that story had a happy ending.

Willow makes it humorous, pausing several times and wiping at her eyes, but it’s Shelly’s response that has my attention.

Goddamn, she looks so vibrant tonight.

All cinnamon-red curls flowing down her shoulders and lively green eyes sent to march me into sin. Her face is so bright, so animated after dancing under the soft light.

When she laughs, I have to pinch myself.

Angrily.

I need the grounding, the discomfort, so I don’t think I’m hallucinating an honest-to-God angel.

Her eyes are twinkling and her cheeks glow with a warmth that makes my cock hammer in my jeans. I want her so bad my lungs feel like they’re cement.

Every movement on the dance floor rendered me damn near breathless, and when I swung her body to mine, a living reminder of how well we fit together—

Fuck.

I’m taking her tonight.