The crazy thing is, I actually believe she’ll risk her hips for this. The woman is batty.
“Fine,” I concede. “I won’t say no, but I’m definitely not asking anyone.”
“Deal,” she says as gets back to boogying.
I stay on the edge of the circle as it slowly widens to include more of Seaside Oasis’s finest. Apparently, all the chair yoga is doing its job. These people can really get down.
Beau has left the dance floor, and I can’t see him anywhere. The sun starts to set, and apart from Grams sitting for a couple of songs while she has some fries, she doesn’t slow down—not even for the first slow song that comes on. That nap did her good.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn.
A man who’s forty-ish years old and has a shaved head stands in front of me, beer in one hand. He’s one of my current next-door neighbors, and he does a flourishing but drunken gesture with his hand as he dips into a bow. Some of his beer spills over, and he hurries to straighten the bottle. “Will you dance with me, fair maiden?” Some of his friends watching in the background laugh and imitate him.
I glance at Grams, who’s stopped dancing and is watching with a growing look of distrust on her face.
I raise my brows at her, as if to sayIs my choice really between this buffoon and preserving your hips?
Grams shakes her head subtly, but part of me wants to say yes just to teach her a lesson. This is what comes of telling girls they always have to say yes.
My hesitation lasts long enough that Drunken Dancer feels the need to repeat his bow, this time holding his beer way above his head—like that alone will prevent it from spilling.
I weigh my options. It’s just a dance, and it’s not often I get to stick it to Grams,but the mere stench of this guy is overpowering.
“I’m sorry,” says a welcome voice behind me. “Drinks need to stay at the bar and tables, sir.”
My heart startsup a quick beat. Is Beau trying to cut in? Is he saving me from Drunken Dancer?
“If you’d like to dance,” Beau continues, “you can set your drink back on the table and come ask again.”
I turn my head and look at him incredulously. What is hedoing? This is the worst damsel-in-distress rescue in history.
The guy looks at Beau suspiciously. “You gonna steal my drink if I go set it down?”
“I’ll do my best to resist,” Beau promises.
The guy looks at him for a second, then nods and turns around, walking to his friends.
“Wow,” I say in a colorless voice. “Thanks a lot, Officer.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes a step toward me.
“What’re you doing?”
“I promised not to steal his drink,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I didn’t say anything about stealing his partner.”
My stomach flips, and I look to Grams, who’s made her way over with her walker.
“All these hooligans swarming my granddaughter.” She motions with both hands for Beau to leave. “Scram!”
“Grams,” I say, aware in my peripheral vision of Drunken Dancer heading this way with both hands free. “Please. Let me dance with him so I don’t have to dance with—ohhey! You’re back.”
The guy’s hooded lids fix on Beau’s hand holding mine. “That’s dirty, bro. I had her first, and you know it.”
“She’s taken!” Grams shoves her walker toward him. “Can’t you see? Now go dunk your head in some cold water and stop being an embarrassment to your parents.”
He blinks a couple times, looking more sober than five seconds ago.
Grams makes another threatening motion with her walker, and he stumbles backward a few steps before turning to his friends and his waiting beer.
