Page 31 of The Lucky One

“I’m sorry—I still don’t think the Cupid Shuffle counts. We learned line dances in elementary school. It proves nothing.”

Oh I’ll prove something, all right.

Before I can say another word, an older woman bustles up to us. “You two are adorable! They’re about to start the next round—let’s go!”

We’re swept into the chaos of people finding spots on the floor, and another older lady sweeps by, putting Bridget directly in front of me in her line.

“Don’t you dare step on my feet!” she yells with a smile on her face.

“Don’t steal my line!” I shout back.

Bridget tips her head back in a laugh and the music starts, sweeping us into a whirlwind of spins and footwork.

Turns out, I should’ve listened a little better when Bridget warned me.

eleven

BRIDGET

This is a disaster.I tried to warn Weston that dancing is not my forte, but he didn’t want to listen and I swear at this point, he might also have an injured foot to add to his roster.

“Stop trying to do everything perfect,” he says as we advance toward each other.

I let out a heavy sigh as we retire—move backward–from each other again. Honestly this isn’t an overcomplicated dance, but coordination is hard for me. I don’t know why. Trying to focus on the song, the moves, Weston’s face as he tries not to laugh too hard at me… it’s a lot.

“I’m just trying to follow directions!” I shout, frustrated.

No one warned me there would be partner switching and all this footwork. Advance. Retire. Exchange places. Go away.

That last one sounds less than friendly, if you want my honest opinion.

You know what my zone is? That slow awkward sway from middle school.

I stumble through more footwork and instructions and somehow we end up beside each other. Weston brightens and it slightly offsets the fact that I’m pretty sure I did something wrong.

The caller shouts out for us to spin, and despite the fact that we’ve already done this a few times, I’m still not prepared for Weston to grab me.

And we’re not holding each other's arms like everyone else.

No, Weston has gone rogue.

“This is the most fun I’ve had all day,” he says, pulling me into his arms and spinning us absurdly.

“You’re going to get us into trouble.”

My protest is half-hearted though because Imuchprefer the press of Weston’s arms against my back versus whatever was happening before.

“Come on Goldilocks, doesn’t it feel just right?”

It does. So much so, I don’t even care that he’s using that blasted nickname again. And it should scare me.

But I’ve experienced the other end of the spectrum and I kind of like it here.

We move a little faster and I have a flashback to that scene in Titanic where Rose sneaks off to the third class deck and she’s really truly happy. Only Weston iswayhotter than Jack and whatever this is won’t end with a sunken ship.

That is until I slip on a slick spot on the dance floor and lose my balance. I fist my hands in his shirt, but it’s too late. I’ve thrown off our momentum and there’s no recovery.

We may not be a ship but we’re going down.

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