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“From a concussion, I know.” I waved my hand. “Whatever, it’s fine. I just need to stay up a few more hours so I don’t throw myself off rhythm.”
He sighed in defeat.
I yawned again. “I’m so fucking bored, though. I don’t know if I’m going to make it without the ability to watch tv.”
He shot me a shit-eating grin. Without response, he hopped up from his spot and pranced over to the speaker next to our television, hooking his phone up to it. His back was turned to me as he asked, “What song were you dancing to last night at the bar?”
“Fuck no.”
“Oh come on, Mace. I’m dying to see your moves.”
“Absolutely fucking not. That was literally the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
He laughed. “I think it’s hot.”
“You think that me smacking my head on a light fixture and literally knocking myself out is…hot?”
He turned around and gave me a dead-pan expression. “No. I thinkyou’rehot.” Crossing his arms, he added, “I’ve seen you dance before, and I saw the jeans you were wearing last night. You dancing on a table…fucking hot.”
His tone was so casual, I couldn’t stop my mouth from hanging open. “You’re telling me if you had been there last night, you wouldn’t have been embarrassed of me? You would’ve thought it was hot? Funny? You would’ve had fun?”
His lips clustered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not so sure about fun. I would’ve been extremely wary of every other man in that bar. I’d be watching them watching you, and I’d probably be incredibly infuriated, actually.”
“Men,” I muttered to myself.
He continued as if he hadn’t heard me, “Embarrassed, though? Never.”
I looked down at my lap to hide my blush. “Whatever,” I murmured. “I’m still not dancing for you.”
“How about you dance with me, then?”
He was grinning at me as I glanced up. Music began flowing through the speakers as he set his phone down on the table next to him and stepped up to me, holding out his hand. It sounded like banjos or something. It was definitely country music, which again, had my mouth gaping open at him. A voice full of southern twang joined the beat. Despite being a country song, it had a pop feel that definitely made it something to dance to.
I huffed, hesitantly raising my arm and allowing him to grasp my hand with his own. He pulled me up gently and tugged me into him, wrapping one arm around my back while the other continued holding my hand. He began swaying side to side, completely out of tune with the music.
“Have you ever tried swing dancing?”
“That doesn’t sound like something I should do while I’m concussed.”
He smiled. “We’ll take it easy. You’re safe with me.”
He let go of my back and used the hand grasping mine to swing me wide, lifting it so that I twirled and came back to face him. He dipped me slightly before pulling back to him, so close that our noses were almost touching. His free arm wrapped back around my waist and he began to sway us in circles again.
“See? Easy.”
“How do you know how to dance like this? And to country music?”
“I like country music,” he chuckled. “My mom is from Georgia. We used to dance in the kitchen all the time when I was a kid. Her grandparents taught her, she taught me, and I’ll teach my kids someday too.”
Oh, God. That was hot.
He stepped back again, and raised our arms over his head, pulling me behind him. He grabbed my other arm so that one of his was across his chest, and the other above his head as I spun around him. I came to face him again, and he let go of one of my hands, using the other to spin me several times before he caught my waist again and dipped me lower than before.
My breath swooshed from my mouth as he pulled me up again. “Wow,” I gasped.
“Feelin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I liked that.”
