Page 59 of Hearts Don't Lie
Hardin broke off the kiss. Heat filled his eyes and the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a sexy grin. In the hush between songs and applause, he said, “I guess showing up is okay. Maybe we should take this somewhere else, Mac?”
She pulled back and grinned at him. In her peripheral, her friends looked astonished. By her behavior or how Hardin had just addressed her?
Arlo cleared his throat. “Good evening, ladies. Maybe we are crashing your party?” He contemplated Hardin. “Maybe not?”
“No. It’s fine.”
He turned to Mac, who had spoken for the group.
“It’s nice to meet the woman who has my friend’s heart. I am Arlo.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kenna.”
“Bro’s Mac.”
“Yes.”
Amusement danced in Arlo’s eyes before he turned to her friends. He was polite as they introduced themselves. Emory was last. His warm smile grew larger.
Cori slipped away from the table and spoke to a waitress.
“Emory,” she said, returning Arlo’s smile.
He extended his hand to her, pleasure evident in his thickly lashed hazel eyes. “Dance with me,mi amor.”
Openmouthed, Mac observed her friend, one of the toughest women she knew, sway as she stood, then follow Arlo meekly, hand in hand, to the dance floor.
“What are you drinking?” Hardin asked in her ear.
“Whiskey shots. We’re waiting on our second round.”
“How long are you all staying?”
Things were changing fast. “Not sure.”
Owen came over to the table with a tray of shots and more water. “On the house.” To Hardin, he said, “I’m Owen. One of the owners. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”
“Thanks, man. Nice to meet you. I was here last week for lunch. It was very good.”
“Thank you.”
Nick, Owen’s business partner, appeared out of nowhere. “Welcome to our establishment. I’m a huge fan, like Owen. Both of us played in college. Nothing like you though.”
Hardin smiled humbly and draped his arm loosely around Mac’s shoulders.
More and more people were taking an interest in their table. The statuesque blonde raised her phone, camera lens facing them. Mac grimaced.
Hardin took two shot glasses from their table and gave one to Mac, raising his, fixing her with a deep look, a gentle smile on his face. “To us.”
She lifted hers and clinked it against his. “To us,” she said and emptied it.
“We’re going to slow things down and then take a break,” said the lead singer of the Rough Riders.
Hardin tossed his back, then took her hand. “Dance with me, honey.”
They hadn’t danced since high school, when they were in Stowe, Vermont. That trip, her first time out of Illinois and on a plane, was monumental. Hardin had told her he loved her, and she had told him she felt the same.
Mac stepped onto the dance area, feeling nervous and excited, but that changed as soon as the first chords played. Raw emotion broke in her, and her throat burned as tears gathered in her eyes when the first words of Travis Tritt’s “Anymore” were sung.
