“You invited me,” I reply. “Is this where the cool kids sit, or am I in the wrong section?”
Lil snorts. “That depends. Can you keep up?”
“Define keep up,” I say, responding to Lily, but looking at Violet.
Violet smiles. “Ignore her, sit.”
Henry and I sit down, I’m beside Violet, with Henry to the right of me, Lily to the left of Violet.
“So, me and my sisters always sing the same song on karaoke nights when we come here,” Violet says.
“Oh, I can’t wait to see this, let me get it on video,” I say, going to pull my phone out of my back pocket.
“Don’t you dare!” she says, pushing my arm away playfully.
The DJ calls Violet and her sisters on stage,Wannabeby The Spice Girls is blasting, and these sisters aren’t holding back.
I can’t take my eyes off Violet. The way she is laughing, spinning, completely unselfconscious. She’s wearing these dark jeans that hug the curves at her waist and hips, flaring out at the bottom. She’s paired it with a back top that looks like a vest, but she isn’t wearing anything underneath it. She has the top couple of buttons undone, giving me a delicious view of her breasts trying to spill out. She tied it all together with a pair of red cowboy boots that are poking out from under her jeans. She looks beautiful, but she could wear a garbage bag and still look beautiful in my eyes.
After their performance, they come back to the table.
“Well, that was the show of the century,” Henry says.
“Why, thank you,” Violet responds as she curtsies and giggles.
The girls were the last karaoke song of the night; the DJ has taken over, and now the dance floor is open. It’s gotten a lot busier since we arrived.
Violet is enjoying the music and sways in her seat. I pull my chair closer, then bring my mouth to her ear, whispering, “Want to dance?”
I see her body react, the goosebumps appear on her arms.
“I…I guess.” She turns to look at Lily, but she nods, telling her to go.
I get down from my chair and reach out to take her hand. She puts her hand in mine and jumps down.
She looks nervous. “Relax, you’re dancing, not performing heart surgery.”
She laughs loudly. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Uh-uh,” I say, raising a brow. “You’re acting…weird.”
“I am not!” she says, bumping into me.
“Yes, you are. But I like it.” I chuckle as I pull her into me.
We dance for a few songs. She’s impressive, showing off her line-dancing skills toFancy Likeby Walker Hayes.
Just as we are about to walk off the dance floor and join the others back at the table,Tennessee Whiskeyby Chris Stapleton starts playing.
I quickly grab her hand and spin her back toward me. Her chest crashes into mine. Looking down into her blue eyes that are dimmed by the bar lights. I wrap a hand around her waist and hold her close to me. Her one arm reaches up and wraps around my neck, holding her other hand. The space between us has disappeared.
I catch that faint smell of lavender and vanilla that always seems to follow her. My hand tightens a little at her waist, like it has a mind of its own.
We start to sway with the music. I’ve danced with women before, but this feels different. It feels meaningful.
Her head tilts just a little toward me, close enough that if I leaned down, I could rest my cheek against her hair.
I wonder if she feels this pull, too. If she notices the way the rest of the room seems to disappear.
