The Lookout was more crowded this time than the last. Generations of Bootleggers cozied up around the bar or held down tables on the main floor space. There were pool tables in the back with the requisite neon beer signs. And peanut shells and dust all over the floor. When I’d asked about it, I was told that no one in Bootleg had peanut allergies. The locals credited the hot springs and their mystical healing powers with the town’s lack of life-threatening allergies.

“Hey, Dev,” Millie Waggle called out from a table of women in a mix of flannel and spring dresses. “Where’s your roommate?”

I waved. They all waved back, smiles curving their lips.

“Jonah’s visiting with friends in Virginia,” I told them despite the fact that it was none of their business.

I started toward the long L-shaped bar even though I’d already decided I would not be overindulging tonight. My moonshine and softball hangover from earlier in the week was enough to convince me to spend the rest of the week apologizing to my body with a series of grilled meats, salads, and workouts. I now knew I suffered from the week-long, feel-like-I-have-the-flu hangovers that all adults came to experience.

But I needed something to do with my hands. A drink would be the most believable prop to hide my nerves.

Tonight, I was on a mission. Scarlett Bodine was coming home with me, or I was going home with her. One way or another, we were going to end up naked together. And in order to make that happen, I couldn’t be the anxiety-ridden hopeful romantic that I currently felt like.

“Devlin,” Rhett, Misty Lynn’s current burly boy toy, nodded as I passed him.

“Evening, Rhett,” I said, slipping past him. It was odd that I was a stranger here, yet I knew more people in Bootleg than I did in Annapolis. That was the small town for you, I supposed. Everyone knew you and your business. I wondered if they all knew my recent history. And if they did, would they advise Scarlett to stay away from me?

She’d invited me here, mentioning that Gibson was playing and I should come. Shit. What if she only invited me to be polite? Or what if it was a group hangout kind of thing, and I’d manscaped for no reason? I mentally prepared myself for that humiliation. At least me and my razor were the only ones who’d know my shame.

I hated the fact that those thoughts crossed my mind. Six months ago, I felt secure in my existence. Thanks to breeding and regular reinforcement, I had the confidence of knowing I was important.

The prenup had protected my accounts, but it hadn’t done a damn thing for my ego. I’d taken more than a ding with this divorce. But a night with the beautiful Scarlett? I couldn’t think of anything that would make a man feel better than that.

And more than that, I wanted to give her something Wade Zirkel never could. I didn’t want to just be a familiar set of arms. I wanted to make this special for her. I wanted to give us both something to remember fondly for the rest of our lives.

The only thing standing between me and that eventuality was the distance between my feet and the bar.

I spotted her. She was talking to two older men at the bar. She was in that short denim skirt, a scooped Bootleg Cock Spurs tank, and a cute little cardigan over it. Her hair was down in thick waves, and she was wearing the cowboy boots from the first time we’d met.

It was official. She was the sexiest woman I’d ever seen in my entire life. Who knew my type would be country cowgirl rather than sleek sophisticate? But there was no fighting it.

I took a deep breath and threaded my way through people laughing around tiny tables.

She spotted me halfway there, and the way her face lit up made the tightness in my chest loosen.

“Hi,” I said. Way to be smooth, jackass.

“Hi,” she said, bringing her straw to her lips.

Was it too early to ask her to go home with me? “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.

She held up her still full glass and wiggled it. “I’m good. But let me buy one for you.” She turned back to the bar, and I skimmed my hand over her hair. “Nicolette! Whatever this tall drink of water wants.”

The bartender, Nicolette, was a short brunette who had waited on me and the Bodines last time we were here. Tonight she was wearing an If You Don’t Like Tacos, I’m Nacho Type t-shirt. She cocked her head at me. “What’ll it be, Devlin?”

“Just a beer,” I said. One beer wouldn’t get me in trouble with Scarlett’s consent concerns.

“What are you drinking?” I asked, leaning into Scarlett’s ear so she could hear me. She smelled like sunshine and a field of daisies.

“Pepsi,” she said with a wink.

“Any reason why?” I asked, barely daring to breathe.

“I think you and I might have plans later tonight.”

Merciful heaven. My heart stopped. I was, for all intents and purposes, dead on my feet with the anticipation of what I thought she was saying. It jump-started with an awkward limp, and then I was breathing again.

“So, want to get out of here?” I was only half joking.

She laughed and ran her hand over my chest, down the buttons of my shirt. I went rock hard when she rose up on her tiptoes and let her lips brush my ear. “I want to spend my evening flirting with you before I spend my night fucking you.”

And just like that, any drop of blood I’d had left in my head dropped south so fast I saw black creeping in on the edges of my vision. “Huh,” was all I could manage.

“Beer’s up,” one of the old guys said, handing me a pint glass of whatever the hell I’d ordered. “You sure you don’t need smellin’ salts, boy?”

Scarlett grinned and grabbed my hand. “Come on, Dev. We’ve got a table up front,” she said, pulling me along.

The group thing was no longer a concern for me. Not when I knew tonight was the night. However, I was in no state to make eye contact with Bowie and Jameson, or Cassidy and June for that matter. I nodded to the table and sat, hoping no one would notice the raging erection in my jeans. As if reading my mind, Scarlett dropped her hand in my lap, and I nearly jumped out of my chair.

“You all right there?” Cassidy asked, raising an eyebrow at us.

I grabbed Scarlett’s hand and moved it a few inches away from my cock.

“All good,” I assured her.

Scarlett smiled smugly.

“Hey, June,” I said.

June held up a finger, staring intently at the screen of her phone.

“Don’t mind June Bug,” Cassidy said. “She’s watching some game and absorbing every measurable stat with her big brain.”

June intrigued me. Not the way Scarlett did. That was lust and biology and chemistry and a good old-fashioned crush rolled into one potent cocktail. June was different. She was incredibly intelligent and used her powers to store every sports statistic known to man. She also appeared to have no interest in human relationships. Unlike Gibson who just seemed to hate people, June was willing to take or leave human interaction.

Speak of the devil, the crowd broke into scattered applause when Gibson strode onto the tiny stage. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt and had a guitar slung across his chest. He was accompanied by a keyboardist and a drummer of mismatched ages.

“That’s Hung on the drums,” she said pointing at the gray haired Asian man in a distressed denim jacket. “And the guy on the keyboard is Corbin. He plays a hell of a harmonica, too.”

Corbin looked like he was seventeen years old. He had dark, smooth skin and thick hair that stood up on his head. He was wearing a bowtie and Dockers.

There was no preamble, no introductions of the no-named band. Gibson launched them into a song about red Solo cups, and the crowd went wild singing along.

Scarlett sang and swayed next to me, and I put my arm on the back of her chair to keep her close. I didn’t want to be disrespectful of her brothers, but I wasn’t going to make it through this evening without touching her.

She leaned into me and smiled, and suddenly I wasn’t so worried about her brothers anymore.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said in my ear.

Hal-le-lu-jah. “Me, too.”

“Where would you be if none of the other stuff had happened? What would you be doin’ on a Friday night in your old life?” Scarlett asked over the music.

I focused on her lips as she said the words. She had the most beautiful mouth of anyone I’d ever met. A bottom-heavy smile with a plump pout. I knew exactly how it felt to have that mouth on me, and I couldn’t wait to experience it again.

She poked me when I didn’t answer right away.

“Fridays were usually receptions or some kind of dinner or fundraiser. Networking, making an appearance.” I reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. She nuzzled against my hand.

“Would you get all dressed up? Eat tiny foods and make small talk?” she asked.

I nodded. It was part and parcel of the lifestyle. I wanted to advance my career, and that’s how it was done. Sure, it meant a dinner was never just a dinner. And it meant that the work week was never only forty hours long. But public service wasn’t an eight-to-five job. It was a calling. Johanna and I, I’d thought, had thrived on the expectations. Rehashing who we’d said what to on the ride home.

And here I was in Bootleg Springs, West Virginia, in jeans with a beer and a beautiful woman looking at me like I was the most interesting man in the bar. There was peanut dust on my loafers, and a country band priming the crowd.

I liked it.

“Is this what you do most Friday nights?” I asked her. At times, I was struck by how little we knew of each other. At other times, I felt like Scarlett Bodine was an old obsession. I was so aware of everything she did, every expression she made, every emotion that passed behind her eyes.

She nodded. “This or sometimes Jameson and me order somethin’ bad from every restaurant in town and have a pig-in.”

“A pig-in?”

“Yeah, when you eat too much in your own house so no one sees your shame.”

I laughed, and she grinned at me like there was nothing I could have done that would please her more. I hoped I had a few moves that would.