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I was speechless. Fucking struck dumb.
“In the early seventies DJ Herc introduced scratching to street dance so dancers could hold moves and stretch out their dance breaks. That’s when dance-offs started. And eventually there were recognized moves like popping and locking.”
Willow and Poppy were both dressed in tank tops and shorts. They were jumping around to the music.
“Here, try a move, then a lock. Whatever you want, just freestyle it.”
Willow was a little shy about it but she did a spin, then froze with her arms crossed. Poppy did some wild semi-cartwheel kind of maneuver.
“Awesome!” Dakota said.
Then Dakota did a spin on the ground and froze in a position that had her legs over her head, knees bent. Holy shit. That was both impressive and pornographic. But only because I had been thinking about her nonstop for the last twenty-four hours. Or more like seven months, actually, and she was damn near naked and I wanted to run my tongue over every inch of her exposed skin.
Poppy spotted me first. “Daddy!” She came running over and gave me a firm, but brief hug. Her cheeks were pink from dancing. “Sorry you lost. Next week will be better.”
“Thanks, Pop.” The loss pissed me off. I was disappointed with both myself and my players.
Willow came over. “We’re dancing.”
“I see that.” I tried to hug her and, to my amazement, she allowed me to. Normally she squirmed away.
“You should have gone for it on fourth down,” she said, looking full of sympathy. “It cost you later.”
Nothing like having your twelve-year-old point out your coaching flaws. “You’re one hundred percent right. We were only two minutes in, I didn’t think we needed to be aggressive, but it came back to bite me in the butt.”
“Live and learn.” She went back to the makeshift dance floor.
Ouch. I had been dismissed by my own daughter.
Dakota came over, pushing her hair back and pulling up her shorts, which did exactly nothing. “Tough loss, Macnamara. What can I do? Did you eat? I can order you something. Or pour you a drink? Or we could watch trash TV and make you feel better about your life.”
That was thoughtful. I didn’t think I’d ever had anyone try to comfort me after a loss before. “I already ate, but thanks. I could use a glass of wine, though. I’ll pass on the trash TV. You three can keep your dance party going. I don’t want to break that up.”
“You could dance with us.”
“Dad can’t dance,” Willow said. “He can’t find the beat.”
Dakota laughed. “That’s impossible. Everyone can find the beat.”
“Haven’t you ever seen Footloose?” I told her. “I can’t explain it, but I have no rhythm.”
“Yet you played football?” she asked incredulously. “You realize the footwork in football is really a dance. It’s choreography.”
“I was a lineman, not a running back.”
“I don’t know the difference between those two but I’m right.”
“How can you be right if you don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Because I know everything. In a very general sense.”
“She kind of does,” Willow said.
“What you are is confident, even when you have no right to be,” I told her. “It’s one of your best qualities.”
“Thanks,” she said, looking amused. “That was kind of a backhanded compliment, but I’ll take it.”
“I didn’t mean it to be backhanded in any way. I’ll put my bag away later,” I said, and headed to the kitchen.
