Page 30 of Hometown Halftime

“True,” she says, looking amused. “It’s nice to see new people and not be under the watchful eyes of the town rumor brigade.”

I laugh, and she smirks. Her eyes catch the lights of the club, illuminating her clear blue irises and, fuck, she looks so good.

One of her friends waves for her to join the group on the dance floor, but Kinsey sends a finger in the air, hinting for them to give her a moment. She turns toward me.

I have no idea what to say. On the field, it’s easy to speak to her. I just talk about the team, drills, or anything rugby, but in this unfamiliar environment, she leaves me without words and with unsteady thoughts.

She seems to sense it. “You clean up okay,” she says as her eyes flicker down my shirt.

“You look beautiful tonight, Kinsey. I mean, you’re beautiful every day, but tonight…” I slowly drag my eyes down her body, then back up to meet her eyes. “Tonight, you look relaxed, and it looks really good on you.”

Probably shouldn’t have said that, but oh well.

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as she looks away, like she wasn’t expecting me to compliment her.

The music shifts to a slower track with a steel guitar and softer vocals. Couples drift toward the dance floor, filling the open space in front of us. Kinsey watches the people moving around us while I work up a bit of courage.

“Dance with me?”

Her eyes jump to mine, filled with surprise.

Then her lips curve. “You like to dance?”

“Absolutely.”

Her eyes trace over my face before she shoots me a mischievous grin. “Ask me nicely, Weston.”

Fuck, why did my dick twitch when she told me what to do?

I decide to play into her little game, so I tilt my head and give her my most charming smile.

“Will you please dance with me, Malone?”

She smiles wide over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip, then sets it down.

“Alright,” she says. “One dance.”

Her hand slips into mine, so small and perfect, and we walk to the dance floor. My brain is having trouble keeping up as sparks surge through my skin where her thumb rests on my knuckle.

When we find an empty spot, I don’t pull her too close, letting her set the distance between us. She sets her hand lightly on my shoulder, fingertips grazing the fabric of my shirt, and I need to take a deep breath with the contact. Just the innocent placement of her hand has me spiraling.

I place my hand at her waist—tentative and trying to be respectful—but the moment my palm meets her body, my breath stutters. Her eyes flare when she senses it, but there’s no other reaction. Once my body settles, we begin to sway with the slow rhythm, moving in an easy circle around the other couples. The noise of the bar fades until it’s just the music and us.

She looks up at me. “So, your friends wanted to get you out on the town tonight?”

I nod, looking over her shoulder to guide us. “Yeah. They got me out here under the guise of a few beers to relax, but now they want to act as my wingmen.”

She lifts a brow. “You don’t seem to be the type of man that needs help picking up women.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “I’m not exactly a ladies' man, Kinsey.”

She nods, then she says, “Well, you’re single, out of town, seems like a perfect situation to have an innocent hookup.”

I let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a choke, and nearly trip over my own feet.

“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at her. “I don’t think I’m the target audience for that.”

Her brow lifts, interest sparking. “No?”