I stand in the middle of the dance studio, staring at my reflection. My girlfriend—professional dancer, competition winner, and now my personal drill sergeant—stands in front of me with her hands on her hips.

“Lando, focus.”

I grin. “I am focused. Just… you know, mentally preparing.”

“You’ve been ‘mentally preparing’ for ten minutes. We need to practice.”

I sigh dramatically. “Fine, but if I somehow get injured, I want it on record that this was not my idea.”

She rolls her eyes and presses play. The music starts, and I step forward, taking her hand. At first, I try to follow her lead—until I get a brilliant idea. Mid-spin, instead of twirling her gracefully, I add an extra dramatic flourish, dipping her way too low.

“Lando!” she yelps, clutching my shoulder.

I burst out laughing. “That was smooth, right? Very Dancing with the Stars?”

She straightens up, glaring. “No! Do not freestyle!”

I try to keep a straight face as we start again. This time, when she twirls, I wiggle my eyebrows and attempt a ridiculous hip shake. She stops mid-step, arms crossed.

“Lando.”

“Yes?”

“What was that?”

“Art.”

She groans, rubbing her temples. “You do realize this is an actual competition, right?”

I nod, biting back a smirk. “Of course. And I’m taking it very seriously.” To prove my point, I dramatically slide across the floor on my knees.

She glares. “I swear to God—”

“Okay, okay!” I chuckle, standing up and grabbing her hands. “I’ll behave.”

She narrows her eyes. “Promise?”

I grin. “Define ‘promise’.”

She sighs but can’t hide the small smile on her lips. “One more time. Properly.”

I take a deep breath and, for once, try to focus. And surprisingly… it’s not that bad. Maybe because she’s leading. Maybe because I actually listen this time. Maybe because she’s her.

When we finish, she nods approvingly. “See? That wasn’t terrible.”

I smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to win this thing, then.”