“Okay, obviously we’re headed somewhere, so where are you taking me?”
“I remembered you loved to dance. Do you still go out dancing a lot?” He answers my question with a question of his own.
“Henry isn’t really into the scene, but I’ll go with my girlfriends sometimes,” I answer, then realize the answer was in his question. “Wait, we’re going dancing? What kind of club is open in the middle of the day?”
He squints his eyes as he thinks about my question. “Well, I’m not really sure if I would call it a club.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I like the sound of this.”
Christian laughs. “What, don’t you trust me?”
“Not in the least,” I huff, glaring at him suspiciously.
“Ouch, that hurts, it really hurts.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Spill it, where are we going?”
Before he answers, I watch as he pulls onto the exit. I look around for some sign of where we might be headed, when I see a sign that reads Congress Avenue.
“All I ask is you try it, and if you have a horrible time, we’ll go do something else,” Christian offers.
I laugh. “In my experience, when someone offers a disclaimer like that, it usually means I’m going to have a horrible time.”
The truck pulls to one side, and with a hard bump as we hit part of the curb, I see the sign for the business where we parked. “The Two Step,” I read out loud.
He pulls into an open spot and after placing the truck in park and looks over at me with a devilish grin. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says.
“I doubt that.”
“I was the same way when I first tried it, but it’s a lot of fun, I promise.” I stare at him, eyebrows high on my forehead. “Come on, worst case, they have killer mozzarella sticks.”
“Of course they do,” I grumble as I push open the heavy door and make my way out of the truck.
“When did you become such a stick in the mud?” he asks me, and I find the words sting a little.
“I’m not a stick in the mud,” I insist.
“We’ll see,” he taunts, opening the wooden door to the establishment. It doesn’t matter that I know he’s manipulating me, it’s still working.
I look around the place that has a dance floor with a two-story ceiling. Everything is wood, and not in a good way—from the floors to the walls, to the tables and chairs, and let’s not forget the wagon wheel light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“All this place needs is a big wooden Indian in the corner, and it would be one for the record books,” I joke.
“There’s one in the back hallway by the bathrooms.”
“Of course there is, how silly of me,” I mutter.
We make our way across the main seating area to the bar, where Christian orders us a couple of beers and asks if we can get some mozzarella sticks. The bartender informs us the kitchen is closed until five, but he’s happy to get us the beers. When he walks away I say, “I thought you were kidding.”
“About what?”
“The cheese sticks.”
“Oh,” he begins, “Heck no. I guess we’ll have to order some when the kitchen opens.”
I sit on the cowhide barstool, another first in my life, and watch the various couples on the dance floor. The size of the crowd surprises me, considering it’s only a quarter past four.
“Did you bring me here to do some line dancing?” I can’t stop myself from laughing as I jokingly ask.
Christian doesn’t answer me right away. He stands, taking a swig of his beer, before slamming it on the counter and grabbing my hand to pull me to the dance floor. “Ever done the two step?”
“No, and I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to,” I yell, as he drags me behind him effortlessly.
We pause at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the song to end. “What are we doing?” I whisper.
“Wait for it,” he instructs me.
I watch as other couples begin to gather around the edges. The room falls silent, and the crowd emerges onto the floor. Christian steps out onto the wooden arena and, with a flick of his wrist, he pushes me away from his body and then pulls me back in, my back pressed up against his chest.
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard, surprised by the suddenness of his moves. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist, his hot breath on my cheek.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I moan, secretly not wanting him to stop.
“Just have fun with it,” he whispers in my ear, and I feel my knees buckle for an instant.