“You heard the man,” she said, pointing at the jukebox. “You’re supposed to shake it, country girl.”
The music was too loud for this to be possible, but Rose could swear she heard her sister sniff. “I don’t shake it.”
Rose laughed, and proceeded to dance, throwing her hands up in the air and shimmying to compensate for her sister’s lack of it.
Elliott, for his part, seemed to enjoy himself immensely, and the smile that lit up his face highlighted that he was a cute guy. When the song changed and the music slowed, she found herself standing across from Elliott, and then awkwardly drawn in for a dance.
She saw that Logan had taken hold of Iris, partnering her so that there was no lag, which meant that she was going to have to redirect and quickly and stop looking at Elliott like he had slapped her with a fish. She smiled.
“Thank you for inviting me out,” he said. His eyes darted over Rose’s shoulder, in Iris’s direction, and she took that as a very good sign.
“Of course,” she responded. “I’m really glad you came.”
She danced impatiently with him for a good half of the song, and then saw her opportunity. Neither he nor Iris were particularly bold, and she just had a feeling that they were going to need a little bit of boosting.
“Partner swap,” she said, separating off and pulling at Iris’s shoulders before giving her a gentle push toward Elliott, and positioning herself in front of Logan. When Logan settled his large hands on her hips, an echo of something very strange shot through her body.
Surprise. That was all it was. It was very weird because she had just been dancing with a man, but she became suddenly so conscious of the fact that his hold was firmer than she had anticipated, his hands larger. That same energy that he radiated when he did things like disapprove of her felt amplified now.
His body was also especially warm, which she found strange and foreign and utterly surprising. She looked up at him, his electric blue gaze connecting with hers like a lightning strike.
“Be careful,” he said, his words hushed.
“What?”
“He likes you.”
“He was looking at Iris while we were dancing.”
“Yeah, because I might have given him a mean look.”
Rose blinked. “Well, they’re dancing. Anyway, I think I would know if a man liked me.”
Logan’s face turned to granite, his features hardening, his jaw going tight. “I don’t think you would.”
“I do,” she shot back.
“You have to be careful, kid,” he said. “You’re playing with people, and that could easily bite you in your little ass.” Something about his words made goose bumps raise up on her arms.
“I will assure you that my ass will remain unbit.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“I can,” she whispered. “Everything is going to be fine.”
He shifted his hand then, a little bit higher on her waist, and she suddenly became very conscious of his thumb. She didn’t know why his thumb. Except that she could feel it. His thumb specifically. Resting precariously high on her midsection. She and Logan came into physical contact fairly often when they did manual labor, but it was imprecise. They would bump up against each other sometimes. Sometimes he would wrap his arms around her while bracing her so that they could wrangle a stubborn calf.
But this was pointed. Targeted.
This had an echo.
She had never felt a touch that had an echo.
The song ended, and he let go of her, the withdrawal abrupt. She felt slightly dizzy, like she had been in an insulated box, and suddenly she was back out in the open, all the sounds amplified, the air feeling colder. It was like her senses had been reduced for a moment, narrowed down entirely to Logan and their dance.
She hadn’t been entirely aware of it until it had ended.
She also felt unaccountably sheepish. Like somehow he had taught her a lesson even though she refused to agree with him.
She had no idea what the lesson was.
But she was done dancing.
She made her way back to the table and grabbed her beer, pulling it to the edge and taking a long sip. Elliott, Iris and Logan stayed out on the dance floor for a while longer. Then Elliott and Iris returned, and Logan stayed.
Rose watched as he found a blonde with exposed skin that looked as soft as a calf’s ear. Rose wasn’t often jealous of other women. Her body was serviceable, after all. It allowed her to do the chores that she needed to get done.
But women like that made her very aware of the fact that her hands were rough. That she did hard labor and it had a hard effect on her appearance.
Rose’s hair was dry from the sun. Even though she used sunblock she was often a bit wind chapped and sunburned. She had calluses on her palms and she didn’t think she had ever radiated the kind of dewy smoothness that Logan’s current dance partner did.
“I better call it a night,” Elliott said. “But maybe I can give you my number and you can send me that recipe.” Elliott addressed Iris for that last part.
“Of course,” Iris said.
The two of them traded numbers, and Rose bit back a sound of triumph.
She was right. And it was going to work. Logan, with all of his dour skepticism, was wrong. He was going to lose the bet, and she was going to be able to set him up, too.
She looked back at the dance floor. He was doing a decent job of setting himself up, she supposed.
She still didn’t like it.
That was hookup stuff. And that had nothing to do with real companionship.
She could remember still the way that Logan had looked when she had bandaged his hand all those years ago. That sadness
