Page 8 of Beautiful Unity

The small dance floor filled with each song as others joined us to follow my lead. Maddox and Brooks joined me, but Bubba stayed to the side, carefully watching us. Between songs, a few of the women asked me to show them the steps so they could keep up when the next song started.

I felt lighter than I had in years as I twirled around, stomping my feet and just letting myself be free. Sweat stuck to my body, and I pulled my shirt away from my chest to fan myself. Maddox placed a glass of water in my hand, and I drank it greedily. The bar was fuller now, with several couples dancing and more gathered around the bar. I saw a couple of girls eye my guys, curious about who was with me and who was single since they had taken turns dancing with me. Thankfully, it was only looks, and I didn’t have to stop myself from making a scene.

Because I would. They were mine.

Snorting, I shook my head. Bubba had been so worried I’d draw attention, but the four of them had all the eyes on them. Silly men.

“Step outside with me,” Grayson suggested, offering his hand. The promise of cooler air had me agreeing quickly. I didn’t look to see if the others would follow.

The night air instantly cooled my skin the second we stepped out the door. The street lights lit up the area, and the music became muted outside the bar. Now that the overpowering sound had disappeared, everything outside practically screamed at me. Grayson pulled me to his chest and leaned against the brick wall.

“Having fun?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m with you, so of course.”

I smiled, my eyes drifting over the baseball cap. “This look, I don’t hate it as much as I thought. I miss your hair, but the hat’s working for you.”

“Oh?” He smirked, his eyes glittering. “Maybe I’ll have to wear one at the shop more often if it gets you to visit.”

“If you want me to visit, all you gotta do is ask, Pretty Boy,” I teased back.

“I remember you mentioning something about me wanting to show you my wrench.”

“Pretty sure you already did that.” I laughed, loving how lighthearted he made me feel.

That was the thing about dating multiple men. They all gave me something different. Grayson was lightness and laughter. Brooks was sweetness and trust. Waylon challenged and respected me. And Maddox was belief and comfort.

And together, we were united. A family. A club. A unit.

Grayson kissed me, taking his time to relish it. He always kissed me like he couldn’t wait a second longer to taste and show me how he felt. My cowboy hat fell backward, but we didn’t stop to pick it up. Our kiss turned hungry, his hands pulling me closer and unraveling my braids. I rocked his erection into my belly, whimpering to feel more.

I wanted to climb him, but the longer skirt kept me from lifting my legs. Stupid skirt! From here on out, only short ones. Otherwise, what was the point? I wanted to be bent over and railed in a sundress, not inhibited by the damn thing.

I grunted when I couldn’t get the friction I wanted. Grayson broke our kiss, nibbling on my neck and gripping my ass in his hands.

“Fuck, Darcie. I want you so bad. Do you think?—”

“You dropped this.”

We jumped, and I spun around. My breath heaved out of my chest as I stared at the man holding out my hat. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He flicked his gaze over me, but not in a predatory way, more like he was sizing me up. I quickly assessed myself that my body was covered, then peered at Grayson, wondering if he felt as odd about this man as I did. His lips were red and swollen, and his hat was slightly askew from my fingers.

“It’s bad luck to let them touch the ground, but maybe that’s just a ranching thing,” the man said, drawing my attention back to him. He motioned with the hat toward me, and I remembered why he’d interrupted us.

“Right. Thanks.” I took it, and he continued to stare at us.

“No problem.” Again, that creepy non-smile.

Suddenly it dawned on me how out of place he was. He was dressed in a plain suit—gray pants, a white shirt, and a gray jacket. A tie was tucked into his pocket like he’d tried to look more casual but couldn’t fully commit. Something about the look pinged in my gut, and I tried to recall why it seemed familiar.

I traveled back up to his eyes, finding them scrutinizing me. He waited, as if he wanted me to figure something out. Straightening my back, I focused on the information at hand.

He was middle-aged, probably in his mid-forties, based on the wrinkles around his eyes and the light gray sprinkled in his dark hair. His eyes were brown, and his face had a slight stubble. There were no other identifying characteristics, almost as if he tried not to stand out. No watch, trimmed nails, and standard dress shoes. Nothing flashy, but everything was well-kept and clean. Ordinary.

“Can we help you?” Grayson asked, but the man ignored him.

My mind whirled, the puzzle pieces slotting into space as he continued to watch. His dark eyes lit up when he saw the light bulb go off in my head.