Yup.
I’m out of my depths here.
We’re talkin’ tryin’ to sober karaoke George Strait in a Texas honky-tonk after his sold-out concert type shit.
As Grams would say…
Pray for me.
Steadying the hand that hasn’t shaken this hard since my first NHL game is practically a fucking miracle. “May I have this dance?”
Her dark eyebrows, which make a gorgeous contrast to her lighter features, lift towards the wagon wheel covered ceiling. “But what if we lose our spot at the bar?”
“Trust me.” Mischievousness meanders through my hazel stare. “We won’t.”
After a moment more of hesitation, she drops her hand into mine and sheepishly surrenders on a half-hearted shrug. “Okay.”
“We’re jus’ gonna do a couple basics, alright?”
Another unsure of herself nod occurs.
“It’s quick, quick, slow. So, I’m gonna start on my left-”
“Wait,” she hastily interjections, “shouldn’t we be likeonthe dance floor or headed to the dance floor or-”
“Right here where we can keep our spot, and I can keep my word?” An impressed grin is my segue to resume teaching. “Like I was sayin’…First, we’re gonna be a bit off center.” Repositioning myself is done. “And then I’m gonna start on my left foot, you’re gonna start with your right. I’mma shuffle, shuffle…”
My frame moves forward yet hers goes nowhere, resulting in my cowboy boot covered feet unintentionally crushing the tips of her toes. “Ou!”
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I murmur in a panic. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-”
“Shouldfinishthe instructions versus hoping I’m just gonna catch on quick.”
Embarrassment crimsons my face; however, the sight of her still smirking slightly lightens it. “I’m sorry again.”
“Forgiven.” She flicks curls away from her soft, round face I’m blocking myself from physically cupping. “Now, when you shuffle, shuffle, I need to buffle, buffle?”
“That mean back shuffle?”
“Yeah.”
“You jus’ make that up?”
“Yeah.”
Warm chortles appear prior to me nodding. “Alright then.Yes.” My chin kicks in that direction. “You need to buffle, buffle.”
“I can buffle, buffle.”
“Can you?”
“Pretty sure,” comes out in an impish nature. “I may have resting confused face, but I swear I’m not.”
“I like your face.” Not smiling is impossible. “And I can’t wait to see the other expressions it makes.”
Airy stammers swiftly escape but never turn into actual words.
Good.
