A few people were scattered at the bar, others tucked into booths, but most had found their way to the dance floor. The space was wide open, a hardwood stage at one end where a woman in Daisy Dukes and a crop top stood, a headset mic hooked around her ear.
She was shouting instructions to a group of dancers, full of energy and sass. It was chaotic, loud, and I loved it.
Two open barstools near the floor caught my eye, and I made a beeline for them, slipping onto the one beside a middle-aged man and his maybe-wife, maybe-girlfriend, maybe-something else. I wasn’t one to judge.
“All right everyone!” the woman onstage shouted into the mic. “We’re taking a ten-minute break. I need a tequila shot and a breather. Y’all fuel up and meet me back here!”
She pulled off her mic and started chatting with the band behind her.
“We got here at the perfect time,” I said, leaning close to Logan’s ear to be heard over the chatter.
He gave a quick nod and held up his hand to wave down the bartender.
“I hope you’re ready to dance your heart out,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I hate to admit it, but I’ve got a little rhythm.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Can’t wait to see you shake that ass and get all the ladies swooning.”
The bartender finally made his way over, took our orders, and slid our drinks across the bar. Logan paid, and I grabbed my martini, lifting it toward him.
We clinked glasses.
“To spontaneous nights and questionable decisions,” I said with a grin.
“Cheers to that.”
I took a sip, letting the cool burn settle, then turned toward him again. “Have you ever line danced before?”
Logan leaned an elbow on the bar. “I know a move or two, but I’m no professional. Don’t you remember that class from high school?”
Oh, God.I groaned.
One semester of gym had required a unit in line dancing, complete with a performance for parents at the end. The memory alone made me cringe.
“That’s a part of my life I’ve actively chosen to block out,” I said, giving a full-body shudder at the memory.
Logan chuckled, eyes dancing.
“Well,” he said, tilting his glass toward the dance floor, “might be time to redeem yourself.”
I caught the way his gaze slid down my body—slow and unhurried—from my eyes to my chest and back up again. The heat in his look made my skin prickle, and I suddenly felt shy under the weight of his attention. Logan brought his glass to his lips, smirking as he took a sip, then set it back down with a casual ease that didn’t help the fluttering in my chest.
“I wonder what time this started,” he said, glancing around the bar for clues. “Can’t imagine we missed much.”
Judging by the sun just beginning to dip behind the horizon, he was probably right. It hadn’t been going long.
We lingered at the bar, perched on our stools as the instructor made her way back to the microphone. Her voice rang out, calling everyone to the floor again.
I glanced at my purse. I didn’t want to carry it while dancing, so I turned toward the older couple sitting beside us.
“Excuse me,” I asked, leaning in slightly. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my bag while we dance?”
The woman smiled wide, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright with the kind of joy that came from a couple drinks and good company.
“Of course, sweetie,” she said.
Then the man chimed in, voice deep and playful. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I know karate. Anyone tries anything, they’ll have to go through me.”
The woman broke into a fit of laughter, leaning forward as her big, teased brown hair bounced and she smacked his shoulder.
