Only Lucy.
Just one of her many adorable quirks.
“The first dance we’re going to learn is the Cowboy Cha Cha,” Neve announces, her high voice echoing through the empty club. “It’s a great, low-complexity dance for beginners, which is why it’s so popular.”
I glance around. The club is massive, and the dance floor is at the center, with the bar running along one side and a large elevated stage up front. Evidently, there’s live entertainment most nights, but that won’t start for a few hours.
It’s still early—just after seven—and judging by the enthusiastic looks on my classmates’ faces, I’m the only one here against my will.
The things I do for lo—Lucy.
“We’re going to start with a rock forward,” Neve explains, demonstrating the move as she steps forward with one foot and shifts her weight. “Followed by a cha cha cha.”
Which is the same move interns do when they’re nervous and shift their weight from one foot to the other, but hey, if she wants me to shuffle in place, who am I to argue?
Neve repeats the move, rocking backward this time so her boot heel clicks against the floor. Then she instructs us to try it out as she walks down the line, offering suggestions and encouragement.
“See?” Lucy wiggles her hips as she does the cha cha. “This is easy. You’ve totally got it.”
“Yeah,” I deadpan. “I’ll be an expert by the time we’re done.”
She laughs and turns her attention back to Neve, who says we’re ready to work in a half turn. Again, she demonstrates as we watch, and then we try out the move.
Seems simple enough so far. I might actually master this dance after all.
Eat your heart out, Macarena.
Neve walks us through a series of half turns and quarter turns, and by the time she hits the music, ready to string them all together, I’m totally fucked.
I rock and cha cha, but when I do my quarter-turn, I bump into Lucy.
She laughs and wheels me around in the correct direction without missing a beat.
Show-off.
We rock and shuffle again. This time I get the rotation correct, moving in sync with the rest of the class, their boots clomping on the hardwood.
“We’re going to start with a nice, slow tempo,” Neve calls out, gliding across the dance floor like a pro. “And once you all get the hang of it, we’ll pick up the pace.”
Is she for real? There’s nothing slow about the way we’re moving from one step to another, stringing them together in a pattern I can’t seem to figure out.
“And turn,” Neve belts out.
I turn, but once again, I go in the opposite direction of the rest of the class and step on the toes of a tiny redhead, who yelps, drawing the attention of everyone on the dance floor.
Just fucking great.
The tips of my ears heat, and I briefly consider abandoning the dance.
Since when are you a quitter, Hart?
Since never. Which is why I have to stick this humiliation out until the bitter end.
“Don’t worry if you fall out of step.” Easy for Neve to say. She’s not the one making a complete ass of herself. “Just watch the person in front of you or beside you and join back in when you’re ready.”
Assuming you don’t get trampled first.
I scramble to catch up, focusing on the task at hand. The redhead is keeping her distance now, which gives me a little more room on my left side. On my right, Lucy is rocking and wiggling and having the time of her life, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, curls bouncing with each graceful movement.
