Page 69 of Still The One

‘Don’t tell all my secrets!’ Gen responds with a playful nudge to Eve’s arm as the song changes. ‘Oh, I love this one! Come on, we gotta get out there.’

‘Coming?’ Eve asks, turning to me for confirmation.

I shake my head, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the rowdy atmosphere. ‘Not sure I could keep up even if I wanted to.’

Eve lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘OK then, party pooper. I’ll be back,’ she says, handing me her now-empty glass. ‘Order me another?’

‘Jesus, you drank that already?’ I ask in disbelief as I hold up the empty glass.

She smirks, cocking her head at me. ‘We’re having fun like we used to tonight, remember?’

‘I mean, yes, ma’am,’ I quickly correct myself, using the southern accent I grew up hearing but have since trained myself out of. The music grows louder and more infectious as people dance and mingle around us.

I make my way back to the bustling bar, weaving through the dance floor where Eve and Gen are effortlessly line dancing to an Alan Jackson song. Their boots tap in perfect sync with the lively music, their faces aglow with joy. I can’t help but smile at the sight of Eve in her cowgirl get-up, a straw hat perched on her head, and the flannel showing off her midriff, hugging her petite frame.

A sweet, sugary scent wafts toward me, emanating from the drink I ordered for her. The glass is deceptively innocent, its contents hidden by a layer of frothy foam. Curiosity gets the best of me and I take a sip, only to be hit with an unexpected intensity that nearly has me choking. Startled, I catch the attention of the man sitting next to me, who looks at me with concern. I quickly wave him off, assuring him that I’ll survive this potent concoction. My taste buds come alive as I realize that this drink is no ordinary cocktail. It’s definitely moonshine, and judging by its strength, at least a double shot. This girl will be riding that bull after this drink, I promise.

As I gaze out at the dance floor, my eyes are immediately drawn to Eve who moves with grace and fluidity as she twirls and dips. She’s the center of attention, sparkling like the diamond she is, lost in the joy of dancing with a crowd of people moving as one. Her skirt flounces and sways with each step, and her blonde hair bounces under the cowboy hat perched atop her head. Every time she turns toward me, her whole face lights up and she gestures for me to join in on the fun.

With a playful grin and a wink, I lift her drink in response to each invitation. ‘Gotta keep an eye on this,’ I shout over the booming music, knowing she probably can’t hear me. But she’s too busy twirling and laughing to care.

‘Come on, Fost,’ she begs, approaching me when the song is over. ‘One dance probably wouldn’t even exert you as much as ten blocks do.’

‘A break-dance might.’

‘Do you break-dance?’ she asks, looking confused at this new information.

‘No.’

‘Then how about a slow song?’

‘I’d love to, honestly, but I’m afraid if I jostle my insides too much, I might drop dead, and I can’t possibly have in my obituary that I died country line dancing.’

She laughs, the sound like tinkling bells on a summer breeze. ‘The physical therapist says movement is good, as long as you don’t over-exert yourself – remember?’

‘You remind me every day, Jellybean.’

‘And every day you get a little bit better, so I must be doing something right.’

As the song changes to one she knows and likes, her body sways expertly to the beat. She stands in front of me, her drink in hand and straw between her lips. Suddenly, she reaches for my free hand and pulls me onto the dance floor.

‘It’s a slow one,’ she says, her voice low and sultry. ‘I’m sure you can keep up. Just sway with me.’ Her hand moves to rest on the back of my neck, while her other hand grips the glass tightly. ‘Even the bad dancers get away with swaying on the slow songs.’

I raise an eyebrow at her teasing remark. ‘Are you insinuating that I’m a bad dancer?’ I ask. But as I hesitantly slide my free hand around her waist and pull her closer, I can’t help but feel the electricity between us and suddenly, I couldn’t care less if my dance skills were the worst of the worst.

My God, this girl smells like a fresh summer day. Her perfume fills my senses and it’s unlocking memories I’d buried deep after realizing she wasn’t coming back. Yet here we are now, swaying to the music together and it feels right. Like no time has passed at all. As we move in sync, our bodies pressed close together yet not too close, I realize that maybe some things never truly die.

‘The backflip and hip thrusts you do after winning hardly qualify as dancing,’ she remarks, a teasing glint in her eye as she looks up at me.

‘Hey, backflips in your thirties aren’t as easy as they used to be, you know. But the fans love ’em,’ I say with a hint of pride in my voice. ‘So I gotta give ’em what they want.’

For a few brief years as a child, I did gymnastics because I was into it. If nothing else, it helped me understand gravity. I’ve still got a few gymnast party tricks up my sleeve that I break out on the track at times.

With a graceful shake of her head, Eve moves from side to side, taking charge and effortlessly carrying the dance. Her movements are like poetry in motion, fluid and mesmerizing. I can’t help but savor her company as we listen to the song’s lyrics about hating love. It perfectly captures her essence.

‘You really relate to this one, huh?’ I remark with a playful grin.

Her lips curve into a mischievous smile as she sings along to the lyrics. ‘Love sucks,’ she declares with conviction.

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