Page 45 of Missing Pieces
Chapter Twenty
We walk into The County Line and I am blown away. It’s huge. There is a stage against the back wall in the center where a bluegrass band is currently playing. All along the sides of the walls are bales of hay and barrels of whiskey. Off to the left is a bunch of picnic tables that sit in front of a food vendor. To the right is a huge bar that wraps around the corner wall. More picnic tables sit in front of the bar, peppered with patrons laughing and drinking. Almost every man here is wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. A few even have large belt buckles and I almost laugh at how stereotypical it is. Except it works. It doesn’t seem cheesy at all.
I am glad I wore this sorry excuse for shorts because if I covered up, I would have felt out of place. Most girls are dressed like me while others wear jeans so tight it looks like they’ve been painted on.
“Wanna get some food first?” Easton asks me.
I nod, and he grabs my hand leading me toward the food window. He wraps his arm around my shoulder while we stand in line. I thought it would bother me. The touch of a man. A man who is clearly claiming me as his. But instead, I almost crave it. It feels natural and I force myself not to think about my past and allow myself to relish this moment.
We both get the fish fry and beers. We find a picnic table that isn’t too full and sit down to eat our dinner. The food is good, and Easton tells me it’s because they catch the fish fresh every day. Once we finish eating I throw out our trash and offer to grab more beers. As I wait at the bar for the bartender to bring my order a redhead with too much makeup and clearly fake boobs gives me a dirty look. I have never seen her before in my life, so I just turn away.
As I go to sit back down at our table, Easton grabs my hips and pulls me into his lap. He brushes his mouth behind my ear, teasing me with featherlight kisses. I push him away and he laughs while grabbing his beer and taking a drink.
The band switches over to a classic country band and a group of people moves to the dance floor to start dancing. I can’t believe people do this for fun. I watch in awe as a few songs play and everyone follows along with the same steps.
“You think you’re ready to try?” Easton asks.
I look at him and then back at the dancers, shaking my head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
His hands move to my thighs, slowly stroking them up and down. “And why is that?”
I look down at his hands then back up at him. “I can’t dance.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure you can dance just fine.”
“Nope. I am the definition of a white girl trying to dance. I am sure there is a video of me on the Wikipedia page ‘How White Girls Can’t Dance.’”
He lets out another one of his hearty laughs, stands up, and pulls me to the dance floor. I try to fight him, but he’s practically dragging me out there. He stops near the outskirts of the crowd and plants his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Stay.”
A new song starts, and he starts to move to the side. Front. Back. Cross. Turn.
I watch him a couple times then try to follow his movements. I stumble twice, but I begin to pick up the steps. He continues to add a few more steps in each time I catch on. I look up and realize I am matching the rest of the crowd step for step. I do a little jump of glee and then completely fumble up the steps. But I don’t give up. I match the next four step and continue on with the dance.
I look over at Easton and his smile stretches across his face. He grabs my hand and adds a spin to the step. When the song ends I get so excited, I squeal like a little girl and jump into his arms. I lay a big fat kiss on his mouth. “I cannot believe I just did that!”
He lets out a throaty chuckle. “I think it was because you had a great teacher.”
I slap his bicep and fall back to the ground. Except he doesn’t let me go. A slow song starts up and we start to dance to the slow rhythm and the mesmerizing voice of the soulful singer.
I get lost in his eyes. There is something in them I haven’t seen before. Like I am unwrapping layers of his soul each time I look at him.
“You know there are about ten guys staring at you right now?” he tells me as we sway to the music.
I break away from his gaze and look around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He spins me around, my back to his front, so I can see the guys behind me. “Maybe they’re gay and they’re jealous of me,” I joke.
He bends his mouth down to my ear. “Doubtful.”
He spins me back around and his mouth leaves a trail of little butterfly kisses on my neck that I am beginning to love as his hand slides lower down my back until it’s cupping my ass. “I think they like the view you’re giving them.”
I blush remembering that my ass is probably hanging out of my shorts. “Well, they only get to look. You’re the only one that gets to touch.”
That earns me an ass grab and a growl. I am about ready to pull him out of this place and go somewhere more private when I hear a voice from the side of us. “Where did you pick up this piece of trash?”
I turn my head and see the redhead from the bar earlier. Easton’s hand slides back up to my back as he stands straight and looks at the woman. “Harper isn’t trash. Far from it.”
She glares at me and then faces him putting her hand on his arm. “Baby, I thought I told you it was all a mistake. We are better together.”