Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Then he says: “No one puts Bobby in the corner.”
I stare at him. “You didn’t just.”
“I did.” With a humored smirk, he extends a hand toward me. “You belong on the stage with me. You’re the only partner I want. The only true one I have. Do this dang dance with me, will ya?”
I’m not ready.
I’m not confident.
I’m terrified out of my bones.
And I take Jimmy’s hand anyway, putting all of my trust into him as I rise from my chair.
Jimmy keeps holding my hand as he takes me down the aisle. So many faces and eyes and stares and dropped jaws follow us the whole way there. So do the murmurs. And the whispers. And the gasps and glances and noises.
And then we’re ascending the steps to the stage. Lights spill over me as I follow Jimmy right to the middle of the stage. The microphone has already been taken away. The crowd is starting to quiet down. Silence falls over the entire world.
All focus is on us.
Every bit of it. All of Spruce is watching.
Jimmy holds me in place, then takes my hand, and just like that, we’re in position, ready for the music.
Jimmy looks into my eyes. “Just like we rehearsed,” he whispers to me. “It’s just you and me.”
“Jimmy …”
“Yeah?”
Something about his strength makes me find my own.
At once, I’m at ease.
Jimmy Strong. This is where I belong. This is who I belong with. This is where I begin and where I end.
The beat kicks in. Those first eight counts play where the pair of us stand perfectly still in our pose, hands in hands. We stare intensely into each other’s eyes.
A smirk finds my lips. “I’m not scared.”
Jimmy’s smirk mirrors my own. “Let’s dance.”
Five, six, seven, eight …
And then we dance.
He takes a step, leading the way, and I take my step.
Our bodies twist, I slide under his arm, then we’re in position again, hips slammed together, our eyes fierce and focused.
Another beat hits.
Another foot slaps the stage with resolve.
Jimmy makes a move that’s as light as air.
His elbow pops in place, opposite mine that mimics his own movement.
Every time we spin away from each other, our eyes lock right back on the other’s, and we find home again in each other’s arms, or hands, or another beat of the music.
There is no audience.
No parents.
No idiots at a movie theater.
No past. No mistakes. No worries. No sulking. No tears.
There’s just Jimmy Strong. And there’s just me.
And the music that carries the love-drunk pair of us away.
Four and a half minutes goes by a lot faster than I expected. And when Jimmy and I hit that final winning pose, I doubt either of us hear one bit of the whole audience exploding into riotous, screaming applause.
We don’t even see them, either.
All we see is each other.
And through all that noise, Jimmy softly murmurs to me: “I love you, Bobby. I can’t live without you in my life.”
“Life isn’t life without you in it, Jimmy,” I say right back to his strong and striking face.
Then to everyone’s surprise—including my own—Jimmy goes and swings my body right around, dips me with charismatic gusto, and presses his soft lips to mine, kissing me right in front of the whole goddamned world.
24
JIMMY
I doubt the town of Spruce was ready for that final unplanned move.
When we separate, new music is playing, and just as planned, the rest of the dance department floods the stage to take over the spotlight with a group number of their own. Even as they start dancing around us, Bobby and I stay right where we are, staring into each other’s eyes.
Through the music, I ask him, “Are we alright?”
Bobby stares back into my eyes. Slowly, a smile spreads his face apart. “Yes,” he answers. “Though, I gotta admit—”
“The kiss freaked you out.”
“It was surprising,” he admits, “but I think we might’ve just freaked out your ma more than anyone else.”
“I got no idea how I’m gonna explain this to anyone.” I tug on his hands. “Maybe we should step off the stage and let the girls have some of the spotlight, yeah?”
“Yes, please.”
And hand-in-hand, I lead Bobby off the side of the stage.
But we don’t go back into the crowd under the pavilion.
I take him off the stage the back way, and slip back into the house, which is mostly empty except for some caterers and hired servers who are cleaning up after guests who have left glasses and small plates of unfinished food here and there, as well as a few stray guests loitering around the food tables. Still gripping his hand, I take Bobby to the least populated room: the art exhibit, where just about all the paintings except one or two have little “SOLD” signs hung near them.
We stop under an unsold painting of a ranch with a sunrise breaking out behind a long line of distant trees. It has an uncanny resemblance to my house. Maybe that’s what it is.