Knots.

I’ve been tied up in knots since Drake left the salon. That infuriating, insufferable man. He thinks he can bust into my business and rile me up and leave me all hot and wanting? Well, he has another thing coming. I’ll make damn sure of that.

“Seraphine!” I yell, storming from my station to the front desk. “We’re going out tonight!”

“We are?” she asks, though her eyes are glinting with humor. She knows exactly what’s got me all wound up.

“We sure are. Dress hot and be ready to dance. I’ll pick you up at eight. And if you happen to slip up and mention our plans to the guys, then so be it.”

“If I happen to slip up, you say?” She’s full-on laughing at me now, but I don’t even care. Drake Collins needs to learn that I’m the one in charge.

“Go ahead and laugh, Seraphine, but by the end of the night, that man will be regretting coming in here and actin’ a fool,” I tell her, stomping my foot for emphasis. “I’m the boss. Not him. Me! He can’t just swing his sexy at me and expect me to fall all over him like some love-struck, googly-eyed girl.”

“Can’t he, though?” Seraphine asks, tapping her long, manicured nails on the desktop.

“I mean, ugh. Yes, physically, he can. That man is catnip to my libido, but he doesn’t need to know that—”

“Hun, I’m ninety-nine percent positive he already knows it.”

“So not the point. I need to flip this around. Stay on top of him.” Seraphine quirks a brow at me, and I can’t help but giggle. “The situation with him, not him-him.”

“Why’re you so against being with him, Az?”

“Because we want totally different things from each other. He wants no-strings fun, and I want to settle down one day. I’ve loved Drake since before I was old enough to even understand the feelings he stirred in me, and unfortunately, the only thing I stir in him is lust. So, I need to stay on top of this shit. It’d be so easy to give in, and then I’d just end up with a hurt heart. No, thanks.”

“And you think going out, dressed sexy, and putting on a show for him is the way to stay on top of the ‘situation’?” Seraphine asks, using air quotes.

Briefly, I ponder her words. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this isn’t the way to guard my heart, but he deserves the payback. “Yup, totally. See ya at eight. Invite Mags, too.”

The feeling of my phone buzzing in my pocket startles me out of my daze. Across the screen, it reads One unread message from Seraphine Reynolds. “What the . . .?” Don’t get me wrong. I like the girl just fine, but we aren’t the texting kind of friends.

Shaking off the weird feeling, I unlock my phone and pull up her text.

Seraphine: Be at Big O’s at 9.

The hell? Big O’s is a local dive bar, owned by a burly-ass ex-linebacker named Owen Heely. Why on earth is Seraphine inviting me out drinking? Girl ain’t even old enough to drink. Just as I’m about to reply, another text pings through.

Seraphine: Your girl’s got a wild hair about her tonight.

Plans on going drinking and dancing. Be there.

Drake: Say no more. See you then.

Wasting no time, I fire off a text to Simon telling him he has plans tonight now, and that he’d best be there because if some dude hits on my girl, I’ll need his ass to hold me back.

Or to help me hide the body. Either way.

* * *

I pull up to Big O’s at five past nine, and the parking lot is damn-near overflowing, cars and trucks everywhere. I manage to snag a spot, conveniently next to a certain blonde’s little toy-sized BMW.

Stalking into the building, I immediately see Simon manning his post at the bar with an ice-cold beer in his grip. As I approach, I nod my head to the bartender, and before I’m even seated, there’s one waiting for me.

“Seen the girls?” I ask Simon, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“Everyone has seen the girls,” comes his dark reply.

“And that means what, exactly?”

He tips his beer bottle toward the dance floor, and my eyes find Azalea almost immediately. Just like every time we’re near one another, I can’t help but only see her. Always her.

I watch in a trance-like state as Azalea rolls her hips to a song about bodies and backroads. I lean forward to get a better view when she lowers herself toward the floor, because hot damn, that ass.

As she shimmies her way back up, I relax into my seat, content to watch her twist her hips and shake her ass.

Suddenly, Simon reaches over and hands me a bar napkin. I shoot him a WTF glare, and he just laughs and says, “To wipe your drool, brother.” And I gotta laugh too, because with the way that girl moves her body, there ain’t a man in here—except Simon—who isn’t drooling a little.

Simon and I waste time, talking shit and shooting the breeze while simultaneously keeping an eye on Azalea and Seraphine, when Magnolia walks up, looking a little worse for wear.

“You okay?” I ask her.

“Um, y–yes. Just didn’t realize there’d be s–so many people.” Her cheeks go rosy at her stutter.

“It’s a Friday night in a small town,” I say, and she shrugs, rounding her shoulders in on herself.

“Maybe I’ll just go—”

“Drake, you better go check your girl,” Simon interrupts. “I’ll keep this one company.”

I whip my eyes back to where Azalea was dancing, and sure enough, some prick is all up behind her, with his hands in places liable to get them broke.

Not sparing Magnolia and Simon a second glance, I take off for Azalea like a man on a mission. “Mind if I cut in?” I ask, my voice deathly low, nothing more than a growl.

“Yeah, bud, I do, so back off,” the prick replies.

“Not gonna happen. Get your hands off her. Now.” I give him a few seconds to comply, because I’m a nice guy like that, but when he makes no effort to step back, I’m done.

“Little Bit,” I grit out, “tell your friend here to get lost, yeah?”

“We’re just dancin,’ D,” she slurs back. Drunk. Great. She’s drunk.

Ya know how some people are funny drunks, and others mean or sad? Well, Azalea is a rollercoaster drunk. Her mood climbs, like the car does on the track, and just as quickly, it plummets, and before you even have a chance to adjust, she takes you on a loop-de-loop.

“Dancing?” I spit back at her. “Y’all aren’t dancing. You’re grinding all over this schmuck while he just stands here like a pole. You wanna dance, let’s dance.”

And just like that, loser number one is forgotten and replaced. By me. I wrap an arm around her waist and draw her body into mine. I match every roll of her hips verbatim, and together, we get lost in what has to be, hands down, the most erotic foreplay of my life.

Too bad this won’t lead anywhere. She’s testy enough every time we sleep together, so I’m not about to lure her into my bed drunk. Her anger I can handle, because the way I see it, that’s her denying her feelings. But regret? Yeah, I couldn’t stomach that.

Six songs later, Azalea isn’t losing any steam. No, if anything, she’s getting more fired up. Twirling herself around, she brings herself face-to-face with me. Her emerald eyes are glassy, and her smile is wide. She drags her eyes down my body and licks her lips as if she likes what she sees.

“Wanna take a breather?” I ask her.

“No,” she whispers, circling her arms around my neck. “I want to stay right here. I want to keep feeling you with me, Drake.”

“Anything you want, Little Bit, always.” I pull her body into mine, leaving no space between us. The crowd around us dances on, but we’re hardly moving. Barely even swaying. Her pull is too strong, so magnetic, and I’m helpless to fight it.

Bringing my lips to her ear, I gently sing the lyrics of the Thomas Rhett song we’re swaying to, telling her through his words exactly how I crave her, because damn, if those aren’t the most perfect lyrics. Sums shit up just right.

She draws my face down to hers and breathes against my lips. “What’re you doing, Azzy?”

“Kissing you,” she murmurs before pressing her lips to mine. And kiss me she does, long and slow, and I love it. Gentle nips and low moans, she kisses me straight through another song.

Our moment is broken when Seraphine wedges her way in between us. “Azalea Josephine, is this your idea of stayin’ on top of things?”

Azalea giggles and nods her head. “Gotta be on tops to stay on tops,” she slurs.

“What’re y’all talking about?” I ask, glancing between the two of them.

“We’re talking ’bout me bein’ on top of—”

Seraphine slaps a hand over Azalea’s mouth. “Okay, that’s enough of that. You’ve had too much to drink.” Turning to look at me, she says, “I think it’s past this one’s bedtime. Can I trust you to get her home safely?”

“You can trust me with her life,” I tell her as I scoop Azalea into my arms.

“Where’re we goin’?” Azalea asks, with her eyes pinched shut and her arms wrapped tightly around my neck.

“We’re going home, Little Bit. Gonna get you all tucked in.”

“With you?” she asks, nuzzling into my chest. I think about it for a minute or two before answering her.

“Yeah, with me.”