Page 17 of Burnin' For You

“I think we should probably raise the glass to Gilly,” said CJ, holding a pool stick. His fellow rookie, Tucker, appeared beside him, clearly his opponent.

“To Gilly,” Jed said, and out of the corner of his eye, Reuben saw a blush press her face.

“I didn’t do—”

“You nearly lost a wing and crashed into the lake. So, yeah, you did something.”

The room quieted, and Reuben couldn’t believe he’d spoken up, let alone the tone of his own voice. Almost, what—angry? But he wasn’t angry—just so immensely relieved—and yes, there it was again, the frustration, along with a fresh realization that she had nearly gotten killed while saving his backside.

Because he’d let them run the wrong way.

So much for breaking free of his regrets.

“Yeah, okay, so again, to Gilly,” said CJ.

CJ and Tucker returned to their game, Jed and Kate to laughing over their darts. Conner pulled out his cell phone, moved away, thumbing a text.

Which left Juliet to sidle up to him.

Up close—or even far away and squinting—she cut a form a man might take a long, second look at. Another man. A different man. One who didn’t mind the way she giggled, pressed her hand on his arm. “You were magnificent on that bull, Reuben. I couldn’t believe it when you stayed on. And then justjumpedoff and waved to the crowd!”

She smiled at him, standing so close he could smell her perfume—which made him need to sneeze.

“And you should have seen the bull. Meanest one in the lot. Nearly took apart the chute.” CJ, clearly lured over by Juliet’s presence and, thank you, because Juliet turned to him.

“Juliet Priest,” she said, holding out her hand. “And you are?”

Right then, as if on cue, the band started up with a song.

“CJ St. John.” He took her hand, and Reuben rolled his eyes when the kid pressed a kiss on it. “Wanna dance?”

Of course she did.

Then it was just Gilly and Reuben at the bar, watching the couple work their way onto the dance floor.

For a second, she looked at Reuben.

Blue eyes, so beautiful that he just swallowed.

“Hey,” he said, a sound that confirmed that, indeed, he was some throwback Neanderthal. He wanted to cut and run right then.

“Juliet was right. You were pretty amazing. Congratulations on winning.”

“Thanks.” More brilliance, but it was all he had. Worse, even sitting, he still loomed over her. Funny, she didn’t seem that petite on the radio or in her NIFC uniform or her jumpsuit.

He ran a thumb down his glass, parting the condensation there. Thought of something. “You want a drink?”

“I can get it.”

She began to raise her hand, but he held up his.

“Please—Gilly. You... Thanks for what you did. It was a big deal.” He offered a smile, mostly because these words came easily, honestly. “What are you drinking?”

“Root beer. Preacher’s kid and all that.” She offered a smile, and he felt like the chiefest of sinners with his half-drunk beer.

He ordered her drink, and she slid onto a high-top chair next to him. At least he wasn’t looking down at her.

She pulled the basket of popcorn toward herself, began to pick at it.