Page 36 of Sterling Touch
When the first warmup band finishes, the crowd disburses a bit. Fans heading for the bar and the restroom in equal measure which opens the space around Vale and her friend.
“I think I’ll say hello,” Clint says, lasering in on where Vale stands.
A million questions run through my head. Does he typically say hello to Vale? Does he miss his old friend? Does he have a crush on her?
Before I can stop him, Clint is sliding through the crowd like he’s swimming upstream.
I hold my ground, finding my feet pinned to the wood floor, and my heart as heavy as an anchor in my chest.
Within minutes, Clint reaches his destination, and Vale turns at Clint’s greeting. Instantly, she looks over his shoulder toward me and I lift my beer in salute. Vale places her hand onClint’s shoulder and leans in, pointing toward her friend, presumably introducing them.
I hate that she’s touching Clint, which is absolutely ridiculous. Vale’s a therapist. She touches tons of people. I just don’t want her hands on my brother.
The jealous thought has me lifting my beer again and taking a hearty swig from the bottle. When I lower it, I notice Vale is no longer near my brother and her companion, and I frantically search the crowd for her.
My brother keeps his new position, like a guard stationed beside Vale’s friend, before the house lights flicker and another band begins. My gaze roams the audience once more, but in the darkened room, it is difficult to distinguish anyone, even a brightly-colored straw cowboy hat on the head of a woman with sunshine hair.
With my hands on the railing, I lean forward. My shoulders are tight. Standing on this hard floor is murder on my back. Someone knocks into me, and I flinch at the contact, turning my head sharply to find clear blue eyes staring up at me.
“Looking for someone, cowboy?” Vale’s voice is sweet; her drawl exaggerated.
“Not a cowboy tonight. Appears someone stole my hat.” My gaze flicks up to the one on her head.
“Finder’s keepers,” she teases, staring up at me, placing her hand on the top of the hat.
I purse my lips, nodding once.
“I didn’t picture this being your scene,” she hollers over the music, taking the liberty to touch my forearm and lean closer to me. When my gaze drops to where her delicate hand wraps over my arm, Vale instantly pulls away. Like she forgot I don’t like to be touched. Only, my beer sours in my belly because she’s read me wrong.
I’ve been missing her touch, like the earth misses the sun after days of clouds.
“It’s not,” I holler back, leaning toward her so she can hear me. The second band is louder, more riotous than the first. Their job is to literally warm up and excite the crowd, and yet I’m feeling like an old man wishing they’d tone it down a bit so I can talk to Vale.
She nods, acknowledging my answer, before glancing into the pit in front of us. Maybe she’s looking for her friend. Maybe she’s enjoying the show, but all I’m aware of is her closeness. Her bare arm and shoulder occasionally brush against mine as she shifts to allow for people walking behind us. The railing prevents enthusiasts from sneaking in front of us, but they are squeezing in close at our backs.
Without thinking, I step behind Vale, slipping my arms around either side of her, placing my hands on the railing again to cage her in from the jostling crowd.
Trapped in front of me, Vale twists, almost knocking my chin with the hat. “What are you doing?”
“Protecting you.”
Her mouth opens and I brace for her to tell me she can take care of herself. She’s told me on more than one occasion, and I know she can handle herself. But something tells me to protect her, all the same. To take care with her.
Little Bee isn’t little anymore, so that’s not the reason I have this desire. The queen has risen to the top of the ranks, and my instincts tell me to keep her safe at all costs.
Thankfully, her lips clamp shut before she argues, and she turns back to the show. At one point someone bumps into me again from behind, and I press forward, brushing into Vale’s back. She stiffens, and I pull away as best I can.
“Sorry,” I mutter toward her ear, the brim of the hat in my way.
Vale doesn’t respond, keeping her eyes forward and her hands wrapped around the railing, clutching it like she needs something to hold onto.
The band plays on, but I can’t say I watch them or even register their music. My entire focus is on Vale. The hint of her honey scent, sweet and appealing, above the stench of warm bodies. The curve of her bare shoulder and the length of her arm. The curl of her hair hanging long beneathmycowboy hat. The swell of her ass in that short denim skirt.
At some point, my legs spread apart, and my feet are on either side of Vale’s, inches away from her heels. My body is her shield when I want it to blanket her. I want to press my weight over her or feel the weight of her above me.
Taking another swig of my beer, I finish the bottle. “Want a drink,” I holler over the music.
Vale glances around my arm. “I’m not sure you can make it to the bar and back before the main act.”
