Page 36 of Eight Second Hearts

Tripp turns on the tv and changes the channel to one about lions in Africa and Bilbo looks toward the screen lazily, actually watching it. Well, would you look at that.

The trip back to the fairgrounds is fast since we’re not staying too far away from it. It’s strange to think of their hotel as my hotel, their room as my room, but I’ve adjusted to it easily. Far too easily really. I should be more careful, more focused on getting the story, but something tells me that I won’t be getting that interview without getting closer to them.

The hoedown isn’t. . . what I expect either. There’s a large pole tent set up outside the arena where everyone trails inside. Many of the women entering the tent range from cute and feminine to rodeo queens, dressed in either their cutestsundresses or their bedazzled cowgirl gear. I’ve seen videos of the girls that can line dance, and this looks just like that. In fact, as soon as we step inside, I see that’s exactly what everyone is doing.

Somehow, I doubt I’ll be able to do the complicated feet movements I see, but maybe they’ll play something a little more my speed. I enjoy dancing, but rarely get the opportunity to do so.

It’s loud inside the tent, the band on stage keeping everyone moving. The large bar against the far end is packed. The moment we step inside, Tripp makes a beeline for it, disappearing into the crowd. Beau whoops and takes off his hat, waving it in the air before he skips out to the dance floor and joins in the line dancing like he was born for the movements. The women cheer when he joins in, smiling brightly at him, their eyes eating him up. To his credit, he barely looks at them, his head thrown back in excitement as he just dances. Like he thoroughly enjoys it.

“It’s worth it just to see him let loose,” Ram says with a smile. “Beau likes dancing.”

“I can see that,” I say, watching as he closes his eyes and falls into the repeated movements. “The dance looks complicated.”

“Only until you learn it,” he replies. “Come on,periodista. Let me buy you a drink.”

We trail over to the large bar where Ram orders a couple of beers for him and Beau and a Tom Collins for me. I take the drink from him gratefully and sip it while scanning the tent for Tripp. When I don’t find him, I frown, wondering where it is he could have gotten up to.

The song changes from the upbeat tune to something slow, sweet and very much in Spanish, and my eyes brighten.

I turn to Ram where he passes off the beer to a happy Beau before the clown gets drawn into a conversation with another bull rider. “Do you like dancing?” I ask Ram.

Ram meets my eyes. “Not usually,” he admits.

My face falls and I look back down at my drink. “Oh.”

His fingers lift my chin up, forcing my eyes to his again. “Ask me anyway.”

“Ask you what?” I rasp. I don’t know how he hears me over the music.

“Ask me to dance,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Okay,” I say, staring deeply into his pretty whiskey eyes. “Do you want to dance with me?”

He tips back the rest of his beer and sets it on the bar before grabbing my mostly empty glass and doing the same. “Yes,” he answers, grabbing my hand. “Of course I want to dance with you.”

He pulls me to the dance floor, and when I would have stopped and put distance between us, he pulls me in closer, his hand respectful on my side. We start to sway side to side at first, before he takes control of the dance and starts to lead me around in a slow two-step.

“I thought you couldn’t dance,” I say, smiling as he spins me around the dance floor.

“I never said I couldn’t,” he laughs. “Just that I don’t usually like dancing.” He leans down, his lip on my ear. “Not unless I enjoy the person I’m dancing with.”

“You sure are a smooth talker,” I tease, smiling at him when he straightens and looks down at me. “I bet you get plenty of women with that dimple on your cheek.”

He flashes said dimple at me. “There’s only one woman on my mind right now.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “And she apparently really likes my dimples. Which means I’m gonna have to show them off even more now.”

I laugh. “See. Smooth talker.”

He leans down. “Oh,periodista. You haven’t even seen how smooth I can be yet.”

I swallow, mostly to keep myself from drooling. “Why waste the energy on me? I bet there are a hundred women who’d happily listen to you smooth talk them. Three of them are looking this way now.”

He doesn’t turn to look like I expect. He keeps his eyes on me. “Who says it’s a waste?”

I shrug instead of answering which only makes his smile wider. He leans in again, pulling me in tighter, and I let him. God, I’m not nearly close enough to him. My hands circle his waist and wrap around his back, my fingers clenching in his shirt. He tilts his head, so his hat doesn’t hit me, and I think he’s just going to hug me. When I feel his lips against my neck, I shiver.