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“I know.” Daniel slid his fingers down the side of my face gently. “But why don’t you let me anyway? Would it be so bad?”
My stomach flipped, and I bit my lip, looking away from Daniel toward the room Windy and Antonio had disappeared into. “Where’s Jack? He couldn’t make it?” I’d wanted to ask that question the entire ride over but hadn’t trusted myself not to sound like a jealous bitch.
“Jack’s out of the picture,” Daniel said.
My heart soared. “Why?”
“Apparently, he thought I was uptight and boring. So he dumped me.”
The surge of victorious joy that threatened to spread a vibrant smile over my face was mean. I struggled to school my expression. “You’re not boring. He’s a jerk. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had fun with him, but it was never going to be more.”
Although there was no one else around aside from a bartender or two setting up shop, the house lights were down. Colored disco balls cast swirling rainbows on the stained wooden floor, almost like beacons calling us deeper into the club.
“C’mon,” Daniel said. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”
The room Antonio and Windy had vanished into was country-and-western themed. Rainbow cowboy hats decorated the shelves behind the bar, and the music pouring from a jukebox in the corner sounded suspiciously like Kenny Rogers. A bartender wiped glasses and eyed us warily as we walked in.
Windy and Antonio elbowed each other by the jukebox, each of them trying to put a quarter in the slot.
“‘You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma’ was my dearly departed granddad’s favorite song,” Windy said. “And I want to hear it.”
“You’re from Vietnam, dumbass, that’s not even possible,” Antonio barked. “We’re listening to ‘The Gambler.’”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’mnotfrom Vietnam, you dipshit. You sound racist when you say dumb stuff like that.” They shoved each other back and forth, a parody of a fight.
“How about ‘Elvira?’” Daniel asked, tugging me up next to them. “Ah-boom-bop, ah-boom-bop, ah-boom-bop, ah-mow-mow, giddy-up.”
“Holy shit, shut up,” Antonio said, staring at him, horrified.
Daniel grinned. “My folks are from tiny, backwoods Kingston, Tennessee. I can honestly say I was raised on the tit of country music.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You know, country when it wasn’t cool.”
“Country has never been cool,” Windy said, laughing, as his quarter finally beat Antonio’s into the slot. “Yes!”
Daniel shoved Windy aside and blocked the list and numbers, finally pushing a few buttons and laughing when the opening of the hideous “Elvira” began.
Groaning, Antonio and Windy shoved at him, but eventually they gave in and linked arms for a line dance. Not to be outdone, Daniel grabbed me, leading me in a messy Texas two-step.
My feet stumbled against his until he let me lead. Once I found the rhythm, the heat of his hands on me and the synchronization of our movements lit me up inside. I stared at his mouth, our feet stamping out the four-four time.
When the song ended, Windy and Antonio battled for the jukebox again. Laughing, Daniel and I abandoned them for the main room. Several early-bird patrons had filtered in, and they sat at the bar drinking and talking.
Sinking on a stool, I ordered a club soda. Daniel asked for a snakebite, and I watched as the barkeep poured a glass of half-hard cider and half-stout. Daniel took a sip of the concoction and nodded.
“It’s good. Want to try?”
I shook my head. Barry didn’t want me to drink, and I was going to keep my promise.
“Open a tab,” he told the bartender. “For the two of us.”
Settling in, I took in the room. “It’s so much bigger than Tilt-a-Whirl.”
“Nashville’s the big time. Well, until you go to Atlanta.”
