Page 113 of Crystal Iris
“I’m Iris,” I say, realizing Jessie is actually trying to call me over to dance.
“Go ahead, have fun,” Serena says, taking my seat.
I’m lost. Things happen too quickly. Before I know it, I’m being led by Jessie.
“I don’t know this kind of… dance,” I start apologizing.
“Nonsense,” he says, pulling me closer and guiding me along.
The singer seems to like the busy dance floor and starts singing a popular song that even I recognize. I look to my right and see Hoyt dancing with Serena. He winks at me and spins her around. He’s not as good as Jessie; even without me knowing the steps, we’re moving a lot smoother together. Nonetheless, I want nothing more than to switch partners.
I let myself have fun, and by the end of the song, sweat is starting to form on my forehead.
“Let’s get another round of margaritas!” Serena says, calling all of us back to the bar.
“You did good,” Hoyt says from my side.
“You aren’t so bad yourself,” I say, smiling.
He bows and almost spills his drink on me.
“Shit! Sorry,” he says, laughing. I like seeing him happy, in his natural element.
“So, how do you guys know each other?” I ask him, eyeing Jessie, who is tapping his wife’s ass.
“High school,” says Jessie, handing each of us a shot glass.
The song changes, and Serena pulls her husband to the dance floor.
Hoyt and I stand watching them when they call us over. I try to copy the steps everyone is doing, but it takes some effort.
“Are you tired?” he asks me when the bar is closing.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not ready for this night to end,” he says, looking at me.
“What did you say earlier? Let’s roll,” I say, ordering a bottle to go, and he laughs.
Hoyt pulls over by a mountain lookout.
He opens the gate of his truck and says, “I didn’t bring pillows or anything, but I have a jacket.”
He lays the jacket down, and I take a seat on his truck. He sits next to me, and I look around us, at the show the sky is putting on.
He leaves the headlights and radio on, and we share the bottle I picked up on our way out.
“We’re just a few miles from the house, nothing but dirt until there,” he says when I ask about him driving home.
“I guess this is what a country date looks like, huh?” I say to him.
“Yeah, sorry, nothing fancy over here.”
“I don’t want fancy. I like wild and free.”
“Never thought you’d be sitting on my truck bed when I spotted you at that gala,” he says, taking another sip.
“Truck bed?” I ask.
