Chapter Fifteen

Nora

Rosalina peers over her shoulder from the passenger seat of Gia's massive SUV. "I really thought there'd be at least one Uber in this town."

"I'm not sure I'd trust it, even if there were," Alessia says with a shrug. "Really, I prefer not to drink so I can drive us back later. I'm more of a drink-at-home kind of gal, anyway. So you three should have the most possible fun."

Ro started having the "most possible fun" when she took three shots of tequila in a row before we even got in the car. Something tells me Gia will be right behind her as soon as we get inside and she's done driving for the night.

The parking lot is nearly full as we pull into our destination. The GPS congratulates us on our arrival as Gia searches for a spot to park her beast.Located about thirty minutes away from the Foxfire Lodge, Eight Seconds Saloon is allegedly the place to be on a Wednesday night in the Adirondacks. I couldn't be happier that this place seems like it's hopping with people. I've been trapped in my own head all day and could use a little fun in the form of liquor and line dancing.

Because I cannot stop thinking about what happened with Sebastian in the kitchen last night.

Or what didn't happen, because I don't think he's aware of what he's doing. That his touch set me on fire, even though it was innocent to him.

But the way his thumb slid against my lip didn't feel innocent to me. Nor did my impulse to lean into his touch. Maybe bite him.

I stare hard at the fringe of my denim shorts as I battle the memory. It's so strong I'm not sure I'll win, but I have to at least try. This is not the week to develop an attraction.

Correction: there's no good week when it comes to a guy like Sebastian.

It's not only that he's a studly turn-on of a man—whereas the best I've been called is cute —but also that he's about to open a nonprofit in another state.

It'd be great if the first guy to stroke my lip like that in, oh, forever , was a banker or a teacher or something that kept him in one place.But no. It sounds like a life on the move runs in his family.

He'd be a great candidate for no-strings-attached sex. If the attraction were mutual, that is. And I think it might be.

But I think I could actually like him.

After the failed relationships and stalled situationships I've experienced, I should know better than to open the door for someone who can't walk through it. I have to look out for my own heart, because no one else will. No one else ever has.

Sebastian was up front that he was leaving Great River soon. He all but hired a skywriter to emblazon don't get any ideas over my head.

It's now my job to heed the warning and not get any ideas.

Alessia says my name in a way that suggests it isn't the first time she's tried to get my attention.

"Hmm?" I shift in my seat to face her.

Winged eyeliner accentuates her probing stare. "Are you okay? You're being very quiet."

"I'm great. Really glad to be here," I say. And that part is true, even if I'm a little distracted thinking about her fake boyfriend. Wondering how he'd react if he knew what his touch did to me.

I internally slap myself upside the head. Not even three seconds have passed and here I am, getting ideas.

We climb out of the car, and the four of us approach the saloon's entrance in the same order we drove in: Gia and Ro in the front, Alessia and I bringing up the rear. All four of us have on cowboy boots and jean shorts. Rosalina is in a green corset top beneath her white bridal sash, as Italians claim green brings good fortune to a bride. Alessia has a white blazer over a black tube top—effortlessly cool as ever.

The instant Gia laid eyes on me when we'd met up to leave the lodge, she'd pointed at my bedazzled, long sleeve thrift-store shirt and said we can do better than that, pretty girl .

Now we are matching in white tank tops with the phrase Cowboy Pillows emblazoned across each of our chests.

Is this better? Who knows. But I'll be damned if I'm going to turn down her kindness.

On the beat-up saloon doors, the silhouette of a man riding a bull is etched in the center, half on each side so that when they open, it gives the illusion that the man is being thrown off.

They creak as we pass through into a huge space with high ceilings, a big bar, and a roped-off dance floor where many people are line dancing. The rhythmic scuffing of boots is like a beating heart. It's dark and smells wooded and sweet, like pineand hickory mingled with liquor.A mechanical bull draws a crowd on the far side of the bar.

It's packed in here. It must be the only real game in town for going out.

We hit the ground running, meaning Rosalina and Gia run ahead to the bar to procure the first round of shots as Alessia and I trail behind.

Once we have our tiny glasses in hand, Gia lifts hers first. "To the most beautiful bride there ever was. I know this isn't the tropical destination wedding you two had in mind, but we're honored to celebrate with you anywhere, anytime. I'm grateful every day that of all the houses in the world, my family moved in next to yours, securing me a best friend for my entire life."

A fierce swell of emotion twists up my throat as I match everyone else's smile. I never think about my future kids—just in case that's not the direction my life goes—but if I have one, I want to give them exactly that . What Ro and Gia have. The time to build something lifelong.

"Gia! That's so sweet!" Ro cries, eyes soft. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

Gia thrusts her hand forward. "Cheers to beers and legs behind your ears!"

Ro is the last to clink her cup. "And she's back."

It doesn't take long, just a few shots for those of us drinking, before we're loose enough to hit the dance floor. But we never make it more than a few minutes before Gia is dragging us back for one more round. I am a walking lemon drop, floating on air before long.

Gia convinces a few cowboy types to teach us the basics of line dancing. We get better as a group, two-stepping like we belong, only minorly tripping over ourselves. It gets easier and easier, or maybe we just relax into it. Gia makes very good friends with a guy in a tan Stetson who says he'll teach her how to work a lasso. Ro informs her that a man who's good with rope is a bonus.

It's not long until there are more locals swarming us, because apparently bachelorette parties are quite a draw. I've never been given so many one syllable names in my life.

I'm Chet.

Brad.

Rick.

Roy.

Alessia sticks close to my side, side-eying the overly friendly ones.

I'm dancing with my first two-syllable name of the night when Alessia pipes up beside me. "Well, if it isn't the yees to our haws."

I track her line of sight as Jessie—I think it was Jessie—lifts me from a dip.

Sergio blasts through the saloon doors, hot on Enzo's tail. A ruddy-facedBenji enters next with Sebastian close behind.

My stomach drops to the ground.

Sebastian is in masterfully crafted jeans—thank you Levi or Wrangler or whoever did this—cuffed over a style of boot that toes the line between utilitarian and suave. His thick hair is a little wild. A green button-up hangs open over a white undershirt, the sleeves rolled up tight around his biceps.

My foot is two-stepped on by a boot.

Alessia's hands fly out to steady me and steal me away from the cowboy whose name I've already forgotten.

"You can't stop moving on the dance floor, silly. You'll wind up like Mufasa." She drags me to the edge of the scuffed floor out of the way of dance traffic. "I guess there weren't many other options for bars in this small town."

Enzo's lassoing the air and yelling something I can't hear from here. Sergio smacks him on the back and points at something. Benji leans an elbow on Sebastian's shoulder, which for him is like third base in a friendship.

I clap a hand to my face. "Oh my God. Is Benji drunk ?"

"I don't know, but my brother sure is."

They attack this place like bats out of hell, nearly skipping as they close in on the bar, drawing the attention of every woman in spitting distance.

I can't take my eyes off Sebastian, who seems considerably more composed than the rest of the boys as he swaggers behind. "Let's go say hi!" I chirp, lightheaded. "You know, to check on Benji."

"Yeah, let's go give them shit." She cups her hands. "Oye, Ro, Gia—the guys are here!"

Ro drops her cowboys like a hot potato. Gia waves us on as the guy in the Stetson swings her around like she's weightless.

Alessia steps over the rope that delineates the dance floor from the bar area. Ro and I are right on her heels. Alessia's hair toes the line between red and purple in this light, and I keep my eyes on it as we follow.

The crowd jostles as the bartender rings the tip bell, and we slip in the hole it creates.

"Shit, that's my phone." Alessia wheels around and scrounges it from her pocket. "It's louder than a cat in heat in here, I gotta take this outside."

She jogs off, boots clanking against the ground.

"Hey Mazzelli!" Ro hollers. Her words are lightly slurred.

Enzo, whose elbows are planted on the bar, looks over his broad shoulder. " Baby? Is that you?" His face lights up like he's seeing Ro for the first time following a harrowing separation. They must not have known we'd be here. "Make way for my beautiful bride, everyone!"

Ro squeals as she moves toward him. He extends one arm and scoops her up, driving her lower back into the bar. He wraps a possessive hand around her chin as his mouth covers hers. People whoop and holler as she throws her arm around his neck, and the bartender rings the tip bell above the cash register to add to the fanfare. Even Benji cheers with one hearty clap.

I muscle my way between Benji and Sebastian. Benji faces me, but every cell in my body is overly aware that Sebastian is an inch from my back. "Are you drunk, Sugar Cheeks?"

Benji lifts an arm to get the bartender's attention. "Good news, Nora! I like whiskey now."

Sebastian swoops his head a little lower, closer to my ear as Blake Shelton yells at us from an overhead speaker. "He's plastered. They all are."

I nod, adrenaline coursing through me at his nearness and the warmth of his voice.

The bartender slings a rag over his shoulder as he stops in front of us. "What can I get you, brother?"

Benji swivels toward the bar, almost hip checking me. I lurch backward to accommodate his width.

A hand steadies me. Warm fingers grip the sliver of skin between my jeans and my tank, sending a shiver up my back.

Sebastian's touch is gone as fast as it came. "You good?"

"Yes." My skin prickles everywhere as I steal a look over my shoulder, my gaze colliding with his jaw. He's right there , looming behind me.

I take a breath. Everyone is jammed into the bar like sardines. It is what it is.

Even still, it feels wrong.

Seb's voice hits my ear again. "Where are you on the drunk scale of one to ten?"

I hum in consideration. "Maybe a six. You?"

"One. Someone's got to drive."

"So, you're their party dad tonight. Bummer." I hug my chest. "Alessia's our driver."

"Good." He doesn't get any closer, but his voice lowers like a caress. "They're having fun. You should, too, Nor. I'll keep an eye on everyone."

I peer up and back to catch his gaze. "What about you? You don't get to participate?"

His gaze dips lower on my face. "I'm happy to watch."

Benji rears back from the bar with two plastic glasses of honey-colored liquid and a broad smile on his face. He hands one to me. "Who wants to ride the bull?"

I take a sideways step away from Sebastian. From both men. "Sure."

"Where's Sergio?" Sebastian asks. "This seems right up his alley."

Sergio pokes his head around Enzo and Ro, who are now doing something even worse than kissing—making intense eye contact at very close range. Foreplay range.

"I'm here. 'Scuse me." Sergio shoves past Ro and Enzo. "What's the play?"

"It's bull time," Benji declares.

Enzo de-suctions his gaze from Ro's face. "Did someone say bull?"