Page 13 of Venus

If you had told me six months ago I’d be square dancing in the middle of town in front of half of Terracotta, Georgia while trying not to trip over my own boots, I would’ve said no way in hell.

But Venus loves dancing. It’s how she lured me in that second time at the bar, and when we came back to this place and she saw an opportunity to outdance the entire town, it was on.

“Just follow my lead and they don’t stand a chance,” she says as we write our names on the sign up form. “Don’t embarrass me and maybe you’ll get lucky afterward.”

I smile down at her, but she doesn’t see it, distracted by placing her drink order at the bar.

“I’m already lucky,” I whisper to her back. She looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes peeking out from my cowboy hat that she stole from me. Classic red flannel and criminally short shorts paint the rest of her.

“You nervous, big man?” she ask s

“I run into burning buildings for a living, you think I’m scared?” I say to try and hide a gulp.

“You realize dancing requires rhythm, right?”

“I’ve got rhythm. I was born with rhythm.”

She raises an eyebrow that says she’s pressing ‘X’ for doubt, but she raises her drink to mine for a toast.

I spy Jackson and Trevor pointing at the sign-up table, and I know they’ve seen my name on the paper. We meet eyes from across the room and they scramble over to us.

“Cooter!” Trevor yells over the music. “You’re cruel, man, giving your girl secondhand embarrassment from your suck-ass dancing skills.”

“She’s now been seen out in public with the three of us. What could be more embarrassing than that?” I tease down to her. She looks up at me and giggles, sliding under my arm and wrapping hers around my waist.

My hand slips into the back pocket of her shorts and I hold her close as we watch the other entrants hit the dance floor. By the time it’s our turn, we might both be a little bit too drunk to actually make this good.

But I don’t care. Neither does she. She’s bouncing on her toes like she’s having the time of her life.

“You ready?” I ask, holding out my hand.

She looks at it like I’ve handed her something dangerous. “Just don’t step on my foot.”

I give her my most charming smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it. ”

The music starts, and the room erupts into a huge applause when we end up with the best song of the night: Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).

Suddenly we’re spinning, stepping, and laughing like we’ve done this a hundred times.

Venus is light on her feet. I fumble over and over, but she pulls me right back in each time like she’s tethered to the beat itself. The crowd is clapping along, and someone yells my name when I manage to dip her without dropping her.

That part? I didn’t rehearse. Pure instinct fueled by a little too much rye whiskey.

She gasps a little when I catch her just before her head hits the floor, eyes wide, mouth open.

And then she laughs like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

Nothing makes me feel more like a man who's got it all than hearing that sound come out of her.

“Careful,” she whispers when I pull her back up. “You do that too well.”

“Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

We keep dancing, even when we’re clearly off the beat. At one point, we’re barely doing square dancing at all. She breaks into a poor attempt at the robot, just to get a reaction out of me. She succeeds.

We’re sweaty and out of breath by the time the final round finishes, and we come in third behind the elderly couple whose house burned down a few weeks ago. They moved like they were possessed by the ghosts of competitive dancers.

Fair.

Just kidding. That shit’s obviously rigged, but for good reason. When they won, the entire bar donated to the prize pool fund to help them with rebuilding their lives.

“That was fun,” Venus says, wiping sweat from her forehead as we collapse into a booth.

“See? You were so worried I’d embarrass you.”

She eyes me. “Don’t let it go to your head, Vulcan.”

She leans back on the bench, looking up at the neon signs overhead. Her smile softens into something quieter. Content.

And suddenly, I want to ruin the mood by saying something honest.

I can’t help myself. So I do.

“You make it really hard not to fall for you,” I admit, with my head resting on my hands as I stare at her like a lovesick fool.

She freezes. Her entire body goes rigid. “Carter…”

“I’m sorry,” I say, fast. “I’m not trying to scare you. But we promised we’d keep this real, right?”

She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide if this is the part where she runs.

Maybe she feels bad for me, because she does her best to relax .

“You should stop talking before you ruin it,” she says. It sounds harsh, but I know she didn’t mean it like that.

She’s just protecting the parts of herself she’s so convinced can’t be happy. I get it, I do. But I’m more of a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve kind of guy.

Even if that means she might be the next one to break it.

Before I can open my mouth and ruin it some more, she grabs my arm and pulls me out of the booth and out of the door.