I shake my head to clear it. It doesn’t help, though. I’m fully distracted by her, and I don’t think I’ll be getting over that anytime soon.
“Yeah, sorry. No, I haven’t been here.”
A flash of white teeth grates over her full bottom lip as she considers my answer. “I heard it’s hard to get into.”
I toss her a wink, deciding I need to get back in my confident mode and leave this starstruck version of myself out here in the parking lot. “Not for us. Willa got us onto the VIP list.”
Her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I pop our helmets on the bike and step toward her, hand outstretched. “Seriously. You ready? Date night?”
My breath stills, a little part of me wondering if she’ll correct me. We had an agreement. This shouldn’t be a date night.
But I want it to be.
She eyes my hand with a smile that makes my chest ache, then she links her fingers with mine. “Ready.”
I underestimated how claustrophobic I would feel in the midst of this crowd. It hits me that I haven’t been anywhere truly busy since getting out of the military. I’ve been hiding on the ranch, in that town, not living my life the way I should.
I feel intensely free and deeply terrified all at once.
I cling to Bailey’s hand like she’s my lifeline and push into the bar. The thrum in my body gives me a thrill, the burst of dopamine I only get when I buy something dumb, do something impulsive, or anytime I’m near Bailey.
Bailey’s dark eyes glance over her shoulder as she leads me in. “You good?”
She looks like a different person. With a little over an hour between her and her childhood home, and a face no one recognizes, she becomes a different person. I adore every version of her.
But this?
Suddenly, I want nothing more than this for her. Excitement dancing in her eyes, a warm blush on her cheeks, a casual smile on her lips.
Conversation hums and bass thumps around us, and all I can do is nod. Because I don’t know if I’m good, but I’m realizing she is. It’s hitting me she can’t stay in Chestnut Springs, and I would never want her to. How could anyone want to keep her there when she blossoms into this vibrant woman the minute she’s away?
“Where to?” she asks.
“Not sure,” I reply, tugging her back, not wanting her too far ahead. Not wanting to lose sight of her in the crowd.
Not wanting to lose sight of her ever.
My eyes catch on a roped-off section that is only a couple of steps up from the main floor. It’s similar to what Willa described, but the man talking to a security guard beside the entrance isn’t quite an exact match for how she depicted her brother. Though I can see the relation clear as day.
Hair almost like mine, but scruffy, dull, and boring, just like him.
This man’s hair is more of a copper brown than Willa’s bright red.
Tall, so he can glare down his nose at you.
Okay, he’s about my height. Six-foot three or so, which I guess is tall enough to “glare” down his nose at Willa.
Green eyes like mine, but darker like money—his favorite thing.
I chuckled at that, but I can’t see his eye color in the dim club. He’s got a green V-neck T-shirt on, though.
Decent fashion sense but clearly trying to dress like he’s salt of the earth when he’s actually a stuffy billionaire.
Jeans. Scuffed boots. Some bracelets adorn his wrists. Leather strap on one side. Beads stacked over a Rolex on the other.
I can’t help but chuckle to myself at Willa’s description of him. It’s so … Willa. And yet, I feel like it helped me pick him out.
“This way,” I murmur against Bailey’s ear as I move us toward the two men who are deep in conversation.
The man’s head turns as we approach, and up close I can tell that he does, in fact, have an unusual eye tone. More jade-like than Willa’s golden moss.
“Ford?” I ask, inclining my head slightly while squeezing Bailey’s hand.
He looks me over swiftly before doing the same to Bailey. I have to stop my brain from going feral every time a guy lays his eyes on her. But I’m not above admitting there’s a suave energy around Ford Grant that I’m pretty sure I don’t possess. And I wonder if Bailey likes it.
His gaze doesn’t linger, though. There’s nothing inappropriate or rude about his gaze.
“You must be Beau.” We stick our hands out, giving each other a firm shake. “And Bailey,” he says, turning to her. She looks startled when he shakes her hand, like it’s alarming to her that someone would want to shake her hand at all.