“I’m serious. Somebody needs to show these whippersnappers how to dance.”
“Whippersnappers? You’re so cool,” I said dryly.
He grabbed my hand and started tugging me to the floor. I froze. “What are you doing?”
“Come on. We have to pass on our traditions to the next generations. This is crucial.” He tugged me.
“Sanders. No. I’m serious. I do not dance.”
“Are you kidding me?” he asked and I realized my mistake.
“Okay, I dance. But I already told you I wasn’t myself that night.”
“Lie.” He threw out his arms frustrated. “Come on, Roxxo. Who cares what they think? You’re never going to see these people again.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s Green Valley, I’ll probably see half this room tomorrow.”
“True. Still, who cares? Aren’t you tired of holding on so tight all the time?” He came closer. He brought his hands around my head. For a moment, I thought he was going to pull me in for a kiss. I didn’t want that. Or did I want that? “Aren’t you tired of thinking all the time?” He pressed his forehead to mine in a frustrated growl. “Don’t you just want to dance like we did that night?”
I widened my eyes.
“Okay,” he amended. “Maybe not exactly like that night. There are impressionable young minds around us.”
His hands reached around for the clip that held my hair back. He pulled it out and ran his fingers through it. He was right. I just told myself to let go. Now I had to follow it with action.
“You’re broken in the brain,” I said but it came out a husky whisper.
“Likely. But you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” He scratched his nails against my scalp and ran his fingers through the length, until it flowed around me. I smelled my shampoo from my slightly damp hair and he leaned in to inhale it deeper. Little freak. I bit back a smile.
I was tired of overthinking. I was tired of being so afraid that a little fun would cause an entire backslide. Just then the peppy beat of the Electric Slide blasted from the speakers. My shoulders started to rock back and forth like some base Pavlovian reaction to the music.
“Come on, you know you want to,” he said with no shortage of flirtation in his voice.
I rolled my eyes. “This is insanity.”
I grabbed his hand and we went to the floor. “That’s my girl!” he shouted and I couldn’t help but feel delirious from his words.
“So is this like the Nutbush?” he asked.
He watched my steps and caught on quickly.
“I have no idea what that is,” I shouted over the music.
He stilled. “I have so much to teach you.” After a disappointed shake of his head, he started to move again.
A few girls hovering on the edge of the dance floor giggled and pulled each other to the center. I moved to the front to show them. It’s a superpower women sometimes have, the ability to learn line dances instantly and follow with ease.
“There you go,” I said to them. They laughed and shimmied without shame. I could tell they felt cute too and that made me feel good.
Who was I? Maybe this was the joy Suzie felt teaching a class at Stripped. I let the music take over. It was fun to line dance. I didn’t look cool but I didn’t care. This wasfun. I could have fun, I was allowed.
More people moved to the floor. Soon at least thirty of us were dancing. Step forward, rock back. Shimmy.
“Alright, now. Come on, y’all!” the DJ yelled.
Sanders grabbed me and twirled me out. I let my head fall back, as the flashing colorful lights and the music made me feel a little drunk.
He pulled me back in, and we ground our hips in tandem, back and forth to the tempo.
