The Second Dance

The Second Dance Jordan Trygg Copyright © 2023 Jordan Trygg All rights reserved The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Don’t miss out! Want to be the first to hear about new releases and special offers? Follow Jordan Trygg on https://www.facebook.com/JordanTryggAuthor to get all the latest. Want free books? Go to https://tinyletter.com/jordantrygg to sign up for Jordan’s newsletter. We promise not to flood your inbox. Just a monthly newsletter and early (sometimes FREE) access to new books. Author’s Note Dear Reader, A quick heads up, this book is not intended for young readers. It contains extra steamy scenes. We’re talking scorching-hot. Thanks for giving my small town boys a chance. They’re very close to my heart. I’m one of those former farm kids that couldn’t wait to ditch the small town. But I’ll say one thing about small towns, they are lousy with big stories. Growing up, I liked to say, “This town is full of ghosts.” What I meant by that was the fact that everyone was living with secrets (and not so secret-secrets). We’re intertwined, us small town folk. It’s a curse and a blessing. I grew up seeing a lot of negative stereotypes of farmers and rural life. And while I don’t think I could ever live there again, I have a healthy respect for these communities. I hope I do the people, and their big hearts, justice. This book is part of a series, but can absolutely be read as a stand-alone. Thank you for reading The Second Dance. -JT The Second Dance By Jordan Trygg 1. Bo Tia slides a piece of chocolate cake in front of me. “Happy birthday, Bo.” “Thanks, Tia.” I smile up at her. Keeping the smile pasted in place, I wait until she’s out of hearing range to mutter through gritted teeth. “I’m intensely uncomfortable.” Cody is sitting with his arms crossed, leaning on the table, a goofy grin on his face. He always did enjoy watching me suffer. Dad whips out a bowling alley matchbook, and we both watch transfixed as he tears one off and shoves it in the center of my cake. “No.” I mutter. “For the love, dad.” I glance around the bar. No one is paying attention. Yet. But Cody is grinning and when dad strikes a match, lighting the first one, Cody starts cracking up. He’s dying with laughter. Dad has never minded a little attention. He’s used to it. The thing about being a star quarterback in a small town? You get to live out your glory days for the rest of your life. Just so long as you never move. “Your mother would have made you a cake.” Dad gestures at the smoking match. “Make a wish, kid.” “I wish this wasn’t happening.” I blow the match out and dunk it in my water. “Are we done here?” Dad leans back, stretching. Mariah Nelson snags his gaze. She’s a Sunday school teacher at our church. She’s got big tits and a smile that says dad better say his prayers. Dad nods, but he’s not even looking at us. “Yeah. We checked the boxes, right?” He’s standing before I can respond. Cody and I watch him strut up to Mariah, the same woman who used to lead VBS story time for us as kids. She was in college then, but that still puts my dad well out of her age range. He’s never been one to let an obstacle stand in his way. He leans against the bar, shining his megawatt smile on Mariah. I glance back at Cody’s face, but it’s completely blank. He either doesn’t care that dad’s flaunting the divorce, or he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it. Cody’s spotted a few of his classmates from high school. “You want me to hang around or…” “You’re good, man. Go catch up with your friends.” I stand up, leaving a generous tip for Tia. She’s been a stalwart supporter through dad and mom’s divorce. Neither of us guys know how to cook, so we’ve been eating Tia’s food almost daily. She’s got the patience of a saint to put up with my dad. Pushing the chair in, I make my way through the bar. I nod at people here and there. It’s pretty crowded for a Thursday night. Dusty and Skyler wait for me at the end with three shots lined up in front of them. Dusty plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “For the birthday boy.” Dusty is probably the one man in Thorne County who could get away with kissing another man in public without risking his manhood in the process. We do not live in a progressive part of the country. It’s exhausting, but guarding one’s masculinity is a requirement. Unless you look like Dusty. He knows he’s a looker. The ladies really know he’s a looker. Gray eyes. Dirty blonde hair. He can take his pick. And has. “Those better not all be for me.” I say, eying the line of tequila shots. “Just getting started, baby.” Dusty says, tipping one of the shots back. Skyler and I do okay with the ladies. We inherited our dads’ football legacy; and in a small town, that’s currency. We’re cousins, but we could almost be brothers. I look more like Skyler than I do my own brother, Cody. I’ve got a few inches on Skyler, and he keeps his dark beard a little thicker than I do. My mom used to say the pair of us were born at the top of the Thomas family tree and hit every branch on the way down. We’re two sides of the same coin,