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"Yep! First time in a bar where the average hat size outnumbers the population of my hometown," I tease.

He laughs hard, tipping his head back, and my stomach does a slow, unauthorized flip. When he stops chuckling, he asks, "Where's home?"

"Three hours north of here. Boring. Flat. Nothing much to do," I admit.

"Tragic." He leans one forearm against the bar, angling his body toward mine, and the move is so casual but also deliberate at the same time that I almost admire it. He suggests, "We'll have to fix that tonight."

My butterflies awaken further. "Fix what, exactly?"

"The boring and nothing much to do, problem."

I smirk, "Oh. Did I imply I needed it fixed?"

His gaze drops, just briefly, to my mouth, then back up so smoothly I wonder if I imagined it. "Everybody's got problems they don't know need fixing. That's usually where I come in."

Carla makes a strangled sound into her drink. "Good Lord, Jagger. I forgot how annoying you are to witness in real time."

"Hush," Jagger says, not even glancing at her. "I'm working."

"On what?" I ask, my cheeks heating, and my belly fluttering faster.

"Convincing you cowboys aren't as bad as advertised."

I tilt my head. "Who's advertising against you?"

"Every ex-girlfriend within a fifty-mile radius, probably," Carla coos, batting her lashes at him over the rim of her glass.

Jagger presses a hand to his chest like he's been shot clean through. "Devastating. And on New Year's Eve, too."

"You'll survive," Carla declares.

"I always do." His eyes come back to me, and there's warmth underneath the cocky edge now. It makes my pulse trip. "So. Lainey. You a dancer?"

"Depends on your definition of dancer."

"Somebody who dances."

"Then no."

He grins and steps closer. "Somebody who's willing to try?"

"That's a different question."

"Is the answer different?"

I take a slow sip of my ranch water, mostly to buy myself a second, because his eyes haven't left my face, and it's masking my ability to think in full sentences. "The answer is, I haven't two-stepped since a wedding in college, and I was significantly more drunk then than I am now."

"We can fix that too." He tips his head toward the dance floor, where couples spin under strings of white lights, boots sliding in easy rhythm. "Both problems, actually. I know a guy who can get you another drink."

"Subtle," Carla blurts out and finishes her drink.

"I never claimed subtle." He pushes off the bar and holds out his hand, palm up, patient in a way that doesn't match the rest of his energy. "One dance. If you hate it, I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."

"And if I don't hate it?" I tease while my entire insides turn to chaos.

A hint of danger moves behind his eyes. "Then we renegotiate the terms."

CHAPTER TWO