The Big Girl's Guide to Buying Lingerie

8. BAD BOYS

Rowdy couldn’t believe his eyes.  The last place he’d expected to see Skye...Jade, he corrected himself, was here at the dancehall.  In the middle of playing “Sweet Home Alabama” he spotted her standing at the edge of the dance floor, a frantic looking smile on her face.  He almost stopped playing just to rub his eyes.

After the way she’s run off Wednesday night, he figured he’d never see or hear from her again.  He’d hoped for a chance to talk it out, explain, maybe figure things out.  Or at the very least, make sure she was okay, but she hadn’t been online at all and he’d figured she really had gone home to visit her parents.

Apparently, she was better than okay.  Dressed in Levi’s and a white sleeveless sweater, she stood clutching one of the wooden poles that separated the dance floor from the tables.  He could barely focus on playing the right chords and caught Jessa’s frown of concern.  Messing up wasn’t normally in his vocabulary.  Until Miss Jade Skye Ballard, that is.

After the song ended, he’d mouthed “break time,” at Jessa, hoping she’d catch the hint.  She had, giving him another puzzled frown.  They’d only been playing an hour.  So sue him. 

Rowdy unstrapped his bass guitar and set it aside, taking a minute to collect himself.  He still couldn’t orient the two sides of Jade he’d been presented with.  His saucy Skyebaby … and Miss Snooty Pants.  He shook his head and slowly crossed the floor to where Jade stood, narrowly avoiding a collision with a couple that spun past to the Hank Junior’s “All My Rowdy Friends.” 

To his further shock, Jade wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned in close.  He stared down at her and kept his own at his sides, wondering what in the hell was going on.  Wondering if she’d had some amazing change of heart, or hit her head or lost her mind or something. 

“I need your help,” she shouted over the music.

Or something.  “My help?  You left me standing on the Riverwalk.  You didn’t even bother to hang around for any sort of explanation or to talk, you just left.  And now you want my help?” he snapped.

She hung her head and rested it against his chest as Hank Junior segued into Tim McGraw.  A slow song.  And they were drawing stares.  He pulled her a little further onto the dance floor and took one of her hands in his, wrapping the other around her waist.

She raised her head and frowned up at him. 

“We can't just stand on the dance floor yakkin’ all night,” he growled over the music.

“Oh,” she mouthed, her eyes glued to his face.

“Well?”

“My mom is here.”

He didn’t miss the panic in her eyes but continued to goad her.  “What’s it to me?”

“She...I’m sorry, Robbie!  I’m sorry I left you there like that, but I need your help,” she pleaded.  “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He danced her into a corner and spun her out, tightening his grip as she stumbled a bit.   Five minutes, huh?  Did he dare?  And why should he?  What type of mom did Miss Snooty Pants have that could send her into such a panic.  “What do I have to do?”

“Pretend to be my fiancé.  She thinks we’re engaged and she wants to meet you.  Five minutes, I swear.  That’s it.  I’ll never bother you again.”

Engaged?  Shock had him pulling up short as he forced himself to not laugh or yell at her crazy request.  She had a hell of a lotta nerve.  Surprise turned to anger as he started dancing again, unwilling to attract any more attention.