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“It’s too bad you can’t dance,” Quinn says, looking at the dancers.
“I said I don’t dance, not that I can’t dance,” I correct her.
“Ballroom dancin’ don’t count,” she says, picking up her beer.
What in the…
“How did you know?”
She snorts. “Oh, please. I don’t see you knowin’ how to breakdance or swing dance, that leaves ballroom dancing, or prom dancing.”
“What’s prom dancing?” I ask.
She picks up her drink and grins at me over the lip of the beer bottle. “You know, boring-ass slow dances, my arms around your neck, your hands very carefully placed on my hips, not an inch lower as we dance like we’re at the prom.”
Now she’s challenging me, and I’m fine with it. I say nothing, I just watch the swing dancers. I zero in on a particular couple. I memorize the moves the man is doing. His arms, his feet, his hips. How he snaps his arm out with hers in it, then spins her back into a split-second embrace, then releases her again. How his arm rises to twirl her on her feet and then slide her between his legs, where she pops up behind him. How fast he spins to greet her. I watch his body language. His spine is stiff, and I realize this dance is meant to look footloose and fancy-free but it’s actually very uptight and controlled.
Uptight and controlled, I could do.
Then, I watch the woman. She doesn’t seem to be doing any of the work. She lets him guide her seamlessly, her body doing only the actions he controls. She smiles while her hair swings wildly as she lets him twirl and control her body.
Wow. Why have I never paid attention to this before? Probably because I don’t frequent country bars. But this is pretty fucking genius—and sexy. Once I’m sure I’ve memorized their moves, I snatch Quinn’s drink from her hand and set it on the table.
“Hey!”
Right on time, a new song starts, and I lead her to the dance floor, extending my arm out so hers has to extend as well. There were five main moves he did, and as I glance at the couple once more, I see they’re dancing the same way to a different song and realize it’s just an easy choreography.
“What are you doing, Linc?” she asks.
I use my arm to yank her toward me so she’s flush against my body. “I hope you can swing dance, and if not, follow my lead. Do not try to do anything yourself. Understand, little dixie?”
She nods up at me with wide eyes. “Try not to embarrass yourself, cowboy.” Then, she hiccups.
I chuckle and do exactly what I watched the man do. Quinn gives up no resistance, just twirls and spins as I instruct wordlessly, and after the same four moves, I can hear the song coming to an end, so I try the between-the-legs sweep and it goes off without a hitch with her popping up behind me. Wow, that was as easy as it looked. Thank God for that photographic memory of mine. She’s laughing by the end of the dance.
Once the song is over, the band starts to play a slow one. I gather Quinn in my arms and pull her tight against me. We’re both breathing hard, and a slight sheen of perspiration is gathered on both our faces, but I cannot stop fucking smiling at this woman.
“Where the hell have you been hidin’ that talent, cowboy?”
“I haven’t,” I say, as we begin to dance “prom-style” as she said. Except my hands are going to wander many inches lower than her waist by the end of the song, and I make sure there are no inches to measure between our bodies. “You were right, I’ve only taken ballroom dancing, per my mother, of course. Nate and I hated every second of every lesson, but admittedly, it has come in handy a few times. Mostly at work parties.”
“Okay, so you just picked up swing dancing tonight?”
I nod. “Yep, just watched that other couple, picked it right up.”
I notice she’s wincing, her brow pinched.
I stop dancing. “What’s wrong?”
She bites her lip a little. “My shoulder.”
Fuck!
“Dammit, why didn’t you tell me to stop?” I shake my head. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Without the sling to remind me, I totally forgot. My God, I probably re-injured your shoulder with all of that. Your doctor’s going to kill me.”
“Yeah, I might need something stronger than beer for this,” she murmurs, pulling her arm down to her side and using her good arm to wrap around my neck. “But let’s finish our dance first. Despite the pain, I don’t want this night to end.”
Her words melt my frigid heart, and I pull her close, careful to avoid her shoulder. “You got it, little dixie.”
