Page 41 of Trying Not to Need You

“Don’t you worry, Ellie. That baby is going to be spoiled rotten living with all of us.”

“I might have to move in, too,” Kinzie teases.

Dixon starts cracking up laughing, and we all turn to look at him. “Cope’s got the spoiling down all on his own,” he says.

“He’s going to be the girl dad at cheer practice, doing the cheers with them from the stands,” Bowen teases as Macklin sets my beer in front of me and takes the seat Courtlynn was in next to me, which is good. That puts her at the opposite end of the table from Bowen when they get back.

“Thank you.” I turn toward Macklin.

He leans in close. “You’re welcome, babe.” There’s a sparkle in his green eyes, and I have to look away before I get lost in them. In him.

“What did I miss?” Macklin asks.

“Oh, Bo was just saying that Cope here is going to be the girl dad who’s rocking the cheers at practice on the sidelines,” Dixon explains.

“Definitely,” Macklin agrees, grabbing his beer in one hand and sitting back in his chair, tossing his other arm over the back of mine. He starts to play with my hair, and when I glance over at him, he’s laughing at the expression on Copeland’s face. I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it.

That’s the thing about Macklin that’s different from anyone I’ve ever been with. He’s open with his feelings and affection. So much so that it feels staged, but I know in my heart that’s not the case. Macklin McBride is a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of man, and that’s the total opposite of my ex.

“You’re not wrong,” Copeland tells them with a shrug.

The table laughs, because we know he’s going to be the one spoiling their daughter, and yeah, he’s going to be that dad. I love that for my sister and my niece.

Courtlynn, Leighton, Kelly, and Lorna eventually make it back to our table, and we all scoot in close to add extra chairs. That puts me even closer to Macklin, and instead of pulling away from his touch as I finish each beer, I start to lean into it.

The night is full of laughter, stories of when we were younger, and some more verbal sparring from Courtlynn and Bowen. We all try to get the baby’s name out of Copeland and Ellison, but they’re not budging. Honestly, I can’t remember a time when I had this much fun just being.

Macklin leans forward, placing his hand on my back. “It’s almost midnight. You going to dance with me, sweet Baylor?” he asks.

“Come on, wife, we’re dancing our way into the new year,” Copeland says, standing and offering Ellison his hand.

“Come on, Court,” Dixon says, standing. “Let me spin you around the dance floor to keep you out of trouble.” He finishes his beer, and I watch as Courtlynn’s eyes flash to Bowen before she nods and follows Dixon out to the dance floor.

“What do you say, Bay? Want to step on my toes?” Bowen smirks.

“Fuck off,” Macklin tells him, and Bowen cracks up laughing.

“Touchy.” He grins. “Ladies?”

“The last time, you stepped on my toes,” Kinzie tells him.

“Fine, I’ll take one for the team,” Kelly, Leighton’s best friend, says. She climbs to her feet and follows Bowen to the dance floor.

Macklin stands, offers me his hand, and I don’t hesitate to take it, allowing him to help me stand. He entwines his fingers through mine and guides me to the dance floor. We move until we’re in a back corner where the lights are dimmer, and the crowd isn’t as heavy.

“Finally,” Macklin says, wrapping his arms around my waist, holding me close as we start to sway to “We Danced” by Brad Paisley.

My eyes find his, and I raise my brow.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I’m trying not to push you, Baylor, but I really wanted you in my arms out here on the dance floor.”

“I would have danced with you,” I tell him, my hands moving from where they were resting on his chest to lock behind his neck. I gently run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes at the touch. When they finally open, my breath stalls in my chest. His gaze is filled with a mixture of desire, need, and something that looks an awful lot like affection, something I refuse to accept as he stares back at me.

“I want all your dances, Baylor.”

“Well, it’s almost midnight, so you’re probably going to get your wish.” What I don’t say is that there’s not another man in this bar that could pull me away from him.

“Oh, tonight, they’re all mine,” he says, smirking. “I don’t care who I have to fight, but when I said all, I meant all, I mean tomorrow’s, next week’s, next year’s. I want all your dances to be mine.”