Page 4 of Easy On Me

An easy smile crept over his face. “Don’t care who pays as long as I get to talk to you awhile.”

Oh, he was smooth, although the flirtation rang genuine and authentic, not just a line.

Maggie mouthed go at me and gave me a tiny push in his direction.

“Okay.” As my friends left us, giggling with their heads together as they made their way back to our booth, I sashayed to the bar and signaled for Angel, ordering another mojito and whatever beer he was drinking. Keenly aware of his tall form next to me, I rested a booted foot on the brass rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and tapped my nails – this week, they were Pisces the Future – on the polished surface.

I slanted a sidelong glance at him. Fuck me, he was handsome – like Gregory Peck, old-Hollywood handsome. And that full bottom lip? I wanted to bite him there, see what kind of noises he made when he was turned on.

With another tap on the bar, I smoothed my hair over my shoulder again. “Where’s your friend?”

“Probably going to do something else to fuck up his life again. Love him but he’s kind of a dumbass.” With an affectionate grin, he shook his head, then extended a hand. “I’m Jase.”

“Tyler.” I rested my palm against his, enjoying the warmth, finding my fingers engulfed by his long ones. He had calluses, like he worked hard with his hands – mmmm – but his neat nails were trimmed and clean. I studied him a moment. “I know you.”

“I bring my truck into the Ford place for servicing.” A slight grimace twisted his lips. “And I’ve seen you out when you were dating Colt Calvert.”

Small towns. Ugh. Angel placed our drinks in front of us, and I reached for mine, burying a hum in a sip of mojito. “So you’re from here.”

“Born and raised.” He gestured with his bottle toward one of the empty tall tables, and I led the way, icy glass cool against my palm. “Stationed in Jacksonville when I was in the Air Force. Worked in north Florida a couple of years when I got out.”

Maybe I’d seen him around Chandler-Haynes High when I went there, but I didn’t really talk about those months. I really tried not to think about that period of my life. If I didn’t like the woman who’d screamed at Colt . . . well, I didn’t like that desperate, rebellious teen either.

Wanting to be someone I liked wasn’t too much to ask.

“What about you?” He tugged out a chair for me and waited until I’d perched on it to pull out his own.

Well, I’d walked right into this. I painted on a smile. “Thomasville.”

“Yeah?” That slow grin made another appearance, his blue gaze fixed on my face. “Glad you moved here.”

That was a statement, not a question. The easy curve of his mouth, the way he lounged in his chair, the intensity of his regard on me . . . little quivers of desire kicked off low in my belly.

“You’re damn good on that floor.” He lifted his bottle, and I watched his throat flex with a swallow. I could taste what it would be like to lick over his pulse, skin a little salty, maybe acidic with a hit of cologne. “Make it look easy.”

“My mom taught me.” I loved being able to say that about Mama Nancy. My mom.

“Can’t say I learned to line dance.” He tilted the bottle toward me. “I can slow dance, though. Mama and Grandma made me go to cotillion.”

That rang a bell – Holly Callahan teasing Colt about it every so often, although I hadn’t paid attention. When we’d been around her while we’d been together, I’d been too busy watching how he reacted to her and tried to pretend he didn’t. And she was so touchy-feely, like she didn’t get that you didn’t put your hands on another woman’s man.

I wasn’t surprised they were together now. Them being a couple didn’t hurt my feelings either.

“Cotillion.” I chased a mint leaf with the edge of my straw. “What’s that?”

“Etiquette classes.”

“Wait.” I held up a hand. Mama Nancy had worked on my manners and marked sections in a book for me to read, but classes? For real? “There are classes?”

“Damn straight.” He touched the center of his chest, mock seriousness all over his face. Oh, he was something. “I excelled.”

“So what do you do? Not in the classes. For your job.” He obviously knew what I did for a living.

“Heavy equipment repair.” He relaxed into his chair. “I run a service truck out of the John Deere shop in Pelham.”

That explained the tan and the gorgeous muscles flexing in those forearms. I seriously wanted to know where else he flexed like that. My belly quivered all over again.

I darted a glance at the dance floor. It was getting late, so the crowd there had thinned out a little. I waved my glass toward the small group trying to keep up with the Men In Black theme song. “I could teach you.”