Playing Hard To Get
There was something about watching them together that reminded me
what real friendship looked like—easy, sharp-edged, unshakable.
A familiar song filtered through the speakers mid-meal—slow country, one of those classics that
made you want to slow dance on a back porch.
Jaxon stood up and held out his hand toward me.
“No,” I said immediately, laughing. “We are not dancing in the middle of a bar.”
“Yes, we are,” he said, fingers wiggling, waiting for mine. “C’mon, darlin’. Just one.”
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