Walking into the bar with the guys, I expected the usual—loud music, laughter, maybe a couple of drinks before heading back to the hotel. But the moment we stepped inside, everything else blurred. My eyes locked onto her.

She was right in the center of the wooden dance floor, boots tapping in perfect rhythm, hips swaying just enough to keep it teasing. Line dancing. I’d never really paid attention to it before, but now, I was absolutely hypnotized.

I muttered, "I think I just fell in love, boys."

They burst out laughing, but I wasn’t joking. Something about her—the effortless confidence, the way she laughed when she missed a step, how she owned that dance floor—made my pulse race.

I had to talk to her.

I made my way to the bar, pretending I wasn’t glancing at her every other second. She finished the dance, laughing with a friend, and headed in my direction. My heart did that stupid thing where it skipped a beat.

"Alright, Lando," I muttered under my breath. "Time to not be a complete idiot."

She reached the bar and leaned against it, her boots tapping idly against the wooden floor. Up close, she was even more stunning. A few strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed from dancing.

"Nice moves," I said, hoping I sounded casual.

She turned, surprised, then smirked. "Thanks. You dance?"

"Absolutely not," I admitted with a grin. "But I’m willing to embarrass myself if you teach me."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "That so?"

"Promise I’ll do my best. But fair warning, I spend most of my time trying not to crash at high speeds, not keeping my feet in rhythm."

She laughed. "Alright, racer boy. One dance. But if you step on my toes, you owe me a drink."

I offered my hand. "Deal."

And just like that, I was on the dance floor, trying to keep up with the steps while trying not to look like a complete idiot. But honestly? If it meant seeing that smile again, I’d trip over my own feet a thousand times.