Second Dance Cowboy (Second Chance) (5 page)

“I think it sounds exactly like that. I was a stand-in.” She gritted her teeth.

“Relax, hun. You’re no one’s stand in. You’re a beautiful, independent, smart woman. A lot of men are attracted to you, but you choose to ignore them.” Aspen thrummed her short nails along the glass case.

“Sure I am. I run around with my hair not
brushed most of the time. All of my leotards have stains, either from the kids here or from home. I have a ten-year-old son who is unhappy and I have extreme guilt that I picked an ass for his father.”

“Give yourself some credit.
Brushing your hair doesn’t matter when it’s up in a tight bun. I have noticed a few stains on your leotards, but you work with kids. What’s to be expected? And your guilt? You have to let go of that. When you met Richie, you had no clue that he was a jerk. What woman does? Oliver is a happy boy—most of the time.”

Aspen
went into the back, leaving Peyton with her thoughts. And boy, were they confused this morning. She swore she’d forget Dillon, again. They’d bumped into each other by chance. They’d talked, had a good time, almost let things get out of hand then walked away. Much like what had happened years ago.

She’d been strong last night when she’d pulled back from his
oncoming kiss. It’d been the hardest thing she’d done in a long time. Probably since Richie had shown up on her doorstep wanting to spend “family” time. She knew what that entailed. He needed a loan. The last time he’d asked, she’d gathered every ounce of gumption and told him no. He hadn’t called or shown up again. That’d been about two years ago. She was losing count.

A
nd a kiss wouldn’t have been the end of the world. Or would it? It could have landed either way. If she liked it, she’d want more, and could very easily be tangled up in a situation that would leave her hurt. On the other hand, she could really hate it and be disappointed because all of these years she’d believed Dillon Brooke knew how to kiss. She’d rather keep her fantasy nice and naughty so she could continue to pull it out on lonely nights when images were all that she had.

A man like Dil
lon could turn her upside down. He could break her heart. She had enough cracks in that part of her body. Another one could be the final blow that’d send her into never trusting another man again. She had to have some trust in the male gender, for her son’s sake.

The bell above the door dinged, drawing her thoughts away from Dillon and onto the first child arriving for class. Dancing always cured her blues, an
d today she’d dance like she was on fire.

CHAPTER FOUR

DILLON WISHED HE’D
grabbed a different cart, unless they were all supposed to make the loud thumping sound like a flat tire on gravel. He bent and checked the wheels. One had thread wrapped around the base and another needed tightened. He’d never shopped before, at least not with a cart, but he had to make this seem real. He’d always stopped at the corner grocery by his house and picked up an armload of necessities. Buying for one doesn’t require much.

He wasn’t here for the variety of food items
boasted on the sign out front. He was on a mission. This is where Peyton shopped.

After looking up her dance studio’s website and reading about her business, he knew more than ever he wanted to get to know her better.
Unfortunately, by the time he made it to the studio the closed sign was up in the window. Luckily, the kind neighbor lady who was outside gardening had no issues with telling him that Peyton said something about grabbing groceries on the way home. With a bit more coaxing, he was able to get the name of the store where she shopped. Now here he was, but no sight of Peyton anywhere.

As he turned down aisle
five, he struck another cart. “Sorry,” he said, but received no validation of his apology. The woman seemed preoccupied with the pile of coupons she was anxiously skimming as several fell to the floor. She had his cart penned and he waited. Finally, she looked up, gaze narrowed and lips pursed, as if he’d committed a crime.

Carts detached, he moved on at a fast pace.

The cart came to a sudden stop, sending the handle bar into his ribs. “Shit!” Frustrated, he checked the wheels again, gave each a slight push, and summed up that the loose wheel was now stuck. He kicked it good with the toe of his boot, doing the trick. Smiling, he started down the aisle again and noticed that he was getting the eagle eye from a lady who was standing in front of the soup cans. He was ready to apologize again, not sure what for, and then he saw the blue basket she was holding in the crook of her arm. That’s what he needed. “Excuse me, ma’am. Where did you get the basket?”

She blinked as if she was
surprised he was talking to her. A good three seconds later, she recovered and a smile spread her thin lips, revealing a set of uneven, decayed teeth. She arched her back and thrust out her chest, revealing the swell of large breasts underneath the thin T-shirt that read ‘Knock ‘em dead.’  He guessed it must be “braless” day. Her beady grey eyes did a quick sweep down his body and up again to meet his gaze. She pumped her stiff hair and winked. “They have a stack of them up front, hun. Looks like you’re having trouble with the cart.”

“Looks that way.”
He wondered how many people came to the grocery store with the intention of meeting someone because this woman was certainly on the prowl.

“You don’t shop here often, do you?”
She cocked a hip and her chin tilted, and he saw the proposal coming well before it began. He plastered on a smile.

“If you’d like, I can show you where they are.” There was more innuendo to her words than a politician’s speech before an election.

“Thank you, but I think I can manage.”

“That’s too bad.” Disappointment spread over her expression
as he turned and wheeled the cart away.

Whirl—thumpity—thump.

This time the noise wasn’t his cart. The sound echoed from another aisle over. At least he didn’t feel like the odd man out now. He moved further into instant potatoes and macaroni and cheese, tossing in a few boxes. “Sounds like someone else didn’t inspect their wheels before they grabbed one.” He lifted his gaze to the elderly woman who was also grabbing macaroni. “A suggestion. Always grab a cart that someone has just left in the rack. Shoppers push the disabled ones to the side.”

“Good to know.
” He could hear the loud thumping of the other bum cart moving closer. He turned his attention to the wretched noise in time to see a flash of a petite brunette, her hair pulled up in a high bun. It wasn’t just any brunette. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve got to run, literally.”

Shooting his broken cart into overdrive
, he rolled to the end of the aisle, his boots sliding on the freshly waxed floor. Thankfully, he was able to come to a stop before he smashed into another customer coming around the corner. He gave a nod of apology, then spun on heel, scanning the main aisle. “Where did she go?”

He didn’t move a muscle. He listened
. Whirl—pop—pop—thump—thumpity
.

Turning
his cart, he followed the annoying sound. He rushed around to aisle three and there she stood, studying the selection of crackers. He skimmed his gaze along the long summer dress she wore to the tips of her pink painted toes. The dress did a good job of hiding her sweet curves, but he remembered every inch and his imagination worked overtime.

She
reached for a box on the top shelf and her heart-shaped bottom molded against the thin material. She tossed the item into her cart then moved down the aisle and around the corner. He was stuck in his spot, remembering to breathe.

Hell, if he was going to do this
, he needed to do it right. Otherwise, she’d think he was a stalker and that’d end any chance for a date.

He started grabbing items off the shelves and throwing them inside his cart. By the ti
me he made it around to the aisle, she was almost to the end. He darted to the next aisle over. Before he could take a much-needed gasp, her head came up and their gazes met. In the next instant, he saw raw anger slide over her pretty features.
Oh, hell.
What had he done last night?

“Good afternoon,” he said.

Did her nose wrinkle? “Yes, I guess it is.” She turned her cheek and walked straight past him.

What the hell just happened? He made a quick
U-turn and followed her. “Interesting how we keep running into one another.”

“Yes, very shocking.” She didn’t even bother looking his way.

“Can’t we stop and chat a moment?” They weren’t going to get anywhere with yelling over the whirling of their carts.

“
I don’t have time. I have things to do. I have someone waiting for me at home.” He barely paid attention to the item she took from the shelf, his mind trapped on whom this “someone” could be.

Should he ask?

He rushed to keep up with her. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he lost control of his cart and the front bumped into the end of the aisle display causing the stacks of paper towel rolls to come toppling to the floor. A young-faced boy wearing a red smock appeared out of nowhere, scowling and mumbling under his breath. When the young man brought his gaze upward and pinned Dillon with piercing eyes, he pointed at Peyton accusingly. She had no clue because she was already turning another corner.

Brushing past the evil wor
ker, he finally caught up to Peyton again. How many aisles did this store have? “Did I say something last night that has made you angry?” He knew he was buzzing—maybe a little more than a buzz—but he hadn’t been drunk. He didn’t remember anything going horribly wrong—of course, his idea of horrible may not be her definition.

“Why would I be angry?”
She continued shopping.

“I thought last night was nice.”

She came to a screeching halt, the sudden quiet of the cart alarming. She twisted and her gaze drilled him. He slowed and stopped. “Are you shopping for your girlfriend?”

The question threw him for a loop. “No.”

Her fist settled on her cocked hip. “Then it’s your time of the month?” One brow flipped upward.

“M
y time of the month for what?” He was at a complete loss. Since he’d entered this store, he’d been the target of Kung Fu stares and awkward flirting. Now he knew why he stayed out of chain grocery stores. This was out of his league.

Reaching into his pile of items, she grabbed a box and held it up. “Feminine napkins?”

He looked closer, reading the small print. “Shit!” What had he picked up? “They’re not mine.”

“I sort of guessed that.” One corner of her mouth lif
ted. At least she no longer eyed him like she could drop kick him into the wall.

“Okay, I’ll confess. I don’
t shop here. In fact, I don’t shop at all.” With that admission, he pushed the cart to the side and stepped away, feeling a sudden sense of relief.

“Really? That’s a shocker.” Her sarcasm dripped from each word.

“I stopped at the studio and the sweet neighbor woman told me where I could find you.”

“Thanks for telling
me. She also cleans the studio for me. Now I have a reason to fire her.”

“What? Are you serious?” Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Where was the tornado
to drag him out of this mess?

“No, but I will need to discuss my privacy
with her.” She crossed her arms over her chest. There it was—the defensive stance. Could he work around it?

“It’s
my fault. I can be convincing at times.”

“Hmm,
I’ve never seen that side of you.” Her sigh echoed off the high ceiling, sending birds scattering in the rafters. Birds in a store? Now he was creeped out.

He laughed
, hoping to ease the tension, but her frown sent chills through him. This wasn’t the same hot-blooded woman he’d held last night. “With the chance of sounding like a stalker, I looked you up online. I realized I didn’t ask for your number.”

“And why would you?”

“I hope you’ll allow me to take you on a date. I’m really not a bad guy.” He wasn’t used to selling himself and suddenly this felt like a pitch.

Her chuckle told him he was severely failing. “Look, you and I had a good time last night. Let’s leave it there.”
She turned on sandaled foot, prepared to continue her shopping, but he couldn’t let her walk away.

“So you’re not going to tell me why?”
He needed to know.

“Why?” She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Why you won’t go out with me.” Rejection never settled well with anyone, especially when he’d wanted this a lot.

She blew out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Apparently
, you have a selective memory. You remember coming into the diner the night I was waitressing, but you fail to recollect the best part.” Her frown deepened. “You and I made plans for the following evening. You asked me to meet you at that cozy little seafood restaurant. Too bad you missed the lobster. Best I’ve ever had.” His stomach shot into his throat.
Fuck!
“By that expression, I’d say your memory is coming back loud and clear.” She shook her head and a tendril of hair slipped from her bun, sweeping along her blushing cheek.