Taylor was a bit stunned as well. “Whoa. Calm yourself. It’s just dancing. I won’t even grab your ass.”

I shook my head and took a step back.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I don’t know how to dance … like that,” I said, pointing to the couples twisting and spinning on the dance floor.

He laughed once. “Two-stepping?”

“Precisely.”

“Can you count?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s insulting.”

“Just answer the ques—”

“Yes! Yes, I can count,” I said, exasperated.

“Then you can two-step. C’mon, I’ll teach you.” He walked toward the dance floor, tugging me by the hand.

Despite my repeated refusals that turned into fervent begging, he pulled me onto the wooden rectangle in the center of the building.

I stood, frozen.

“Relax. I’ll make you look good.”

“I don’t like country music.”

“No one does. Just roll with it.”

I sighed.

Taylor put his right hand on my hip and gripped my right hand with his left. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

I looked around. Some men had their hands on the shoulders of their partners. Some women were too busy spinning in circles to put their hands anywhere.

“Oh God,” I said, closing my eyes. I didn’t like doing things I didn’t already know I was going to excel at.

“Falyn,” Taylor said, his voice calming and smooth.

I opened my eyes and tried not to let the dimple in his cheek distract me.

“I’m going to take two steps backward with my left foot. You’re going to step forward with your right. Two times, okay?”

I nodded.

“Then I’m going to step backward once with my right foot, and you’ll step forward with your left foot. Just once. The count is two quick, one, two quick, one. Ready?”

I shook my head.

He laughed. “It’s really not that bad. Just listen to the music. I’ll take you around the floor.”

Taylor stepped, and I went with him. I counted in my head, trying to mirror his movements. I wasn’t completely ignorant in the realm of dancing. Blaire had insisted on ballet lessons until I was thirteen, and it had become obvious that no amount of instruction could teach me how to be graceful.

Two-stepping, however, seemed to be fairly painless, and Taylor was actually pretty good. After a few laps around the dance floor, he let go with one hand and spun me once. When I returned to the original position, I couldn’t help the smile erupting across my face.

The song ended, and I huffed. “Okay, so it wasn’t awful.”

Another song began, this one a bit faster.

“Then let’s go again,” he said, pulling me with him.