I laugh lightly and then shake my head. “I’ll let you and Jen have that kind of fun tonight. I don’t think I’m cut out for the country two-step.” It looks easy enough, but I was born with two left feet, and no amount of ballet could fix it.
“Suit yourself,” Harlee says, grabbing Jen’s arm and dragging her out to the floor. They hold their drinks and seem to sway around, giggling and chatting over the music. It’s not long before they’re approached by three guys, all of them wearing cowboy hats.
Are they real cowboys?
I can’t help but wonder, even though I have no interest or care in the world. But still, I watch the exchange, sipping my drink until there’s not much left.
Suddenly, Jen is pointing at me.
Uh oh.
One of the men who’s standing with them follows her pointer finger. His dark eyes lock with mine, and before I know it, he’s on his way over. I take a deep breath and brace for impact, setting my empty drink down on the counter beside me.
“You must be Brittany,” he says, his voice thick with a southern drawl. I get how, for some women, it might do something for them. But for me? Yeah, no. It just seems like I should be sipping on sweet tea.
And I don’t even like sweet tea.
“They’re gonna dance with my friends, and I figured you might wanna dance partner, too,” he continues. “I’m Brandon.”
I force a smile. I’m not opposed to the idea, but … “Nice to meet you.” I pause. “I’m horrible at dancing.” I put the truth out there, and he just chuckles.
“That’s okay. I’m not great either.” He extends a hand, and I take it, throwing caution to the wind. I mean, I guess it wouldn’t kill me to live a little.
But just a little.
Brandon, a dark-eyed, blond-headed cowboy of sorts, leads me out onto the dance floor, and I don’t miss the way Harlee and Jen whoop and holler their approval in my direction. I roll my eyes as Brandon smirks at me.
“I think they’re happy you said ‘yes.’” He winks at me as he places a hand gently on my waist, pulling me close to him, but nottooclose. He’s at least respectable enough to keep some room for Jesus. “Where are you from?” he asks as he starts to lead us—two steps forward and one back.
“New York City,” I tell him, and instantly see curiosity brewing in his expression. “What about you?”
“Georgia,” he answers. “I knew there was something different in your accent. You’re definitely not from around here.”
“Nope.”Thank goodness.“I love New York.”
“That’s one place I have to say I don’t have any interest in visiting.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
Maybe I should find it offensive, but honestly, it comes as a relief, because now I know there’s a pretty big chance he’snotgoing to ask for my phone number, which allows me to relax.
I don’t have to combat the urge to try and consider if Brandon might be a secret Prince Charming out to save my freshly-broken heart. I don’t have time for that kind of heroism. Especially not from someone who doesn’t even like New York City.
“I thought you said you were bad at dancing.” Brandon’s voice draws me back to the present. “I don’t think that’s the case at all.”
“I’m pretty sure I have two left feet.” I laugh and shrug, listening to the song and hoping that it’ll end soon as I catch sight of a little gift shop attached to the bar. For some reason, I’m drawn to it.
Maybe I can find something to send Weston with my Superman cape picture.
As soon as the final note plays, I pull away from Brandon. “Thank you for the dance.”
He grins, tipping his cowboy hat in my direction. “No problem. If you weren’t from New York City, I might ask for a second.”
I frown, not remotely charmed by the passive-aggressive remark. “If you weren’t from Georgia, I might be offended by that.” I give him a nod right back, and then slip through the crowd, not missing that Harlee and Jen are still in the arms of Brandon’s friends.
Let them.
Maybe since they’re from the same area, it doesn’t bother them as much.
I slip into the gift shop, the lighting warm and welcoming. My eyes scan all of the random gifts—all apparently from local businesses.
