She rolled her lips together, overwhelmed at knowing that her co-workers put this together for her, but more overwhelmed that she was part of this group now. “They did this?”
He smiled. “Yes, my birthday surprise would involve a lot less clothes and probably ball gags. The night is young, though.”
She laughed and half-heartedly shoved him. “I hate you.”
He kissed her hand. “I hate you back.”
She poked a finger to his chest. “I don’t want to leave. But if I don’t get my po-boy in the next two minutes, there may be blood.”
He lifted his palms to her and backed away. “Someone get the doc some roast beef, stat.”
She laughed as three different waiters stepped forward with trays of food. Lane got her a plate and piled it high, and then her co-workers descended on her, chatting, wishing her happy early birthday, and asking her about her mom.
The attention was overwhelming at first, but soon she fell into a rhythm that had become more and more familiar over the last few months, being part of a group, of a team…of a couple. She even caught herself laughing. Relaxing.
After she’d finished her food, Lane slid his hands onto her shoulders and leaned next to her ear. “I have fed you. Now we have reached the most vital part of the evening. It is time…to line dance.”
She turned her head and gave him a you-must-be-on-hallucinogenics look.
“We reserved the place on country-western line dance night,” he explained. “So we’re obligated to do this. There has been line dancing on this night of the week here for ten years. It’s bad luck to break tradition.”
She smirked. “Bad luck? I am a dignified doctor of medicine. I do not line dance.”
“You do now. Thems the rules, doc.” He plunked a shot of something amber-colored in front of her. “Drink up, birthday girl, and let’s fulfill our duty.”
Elle groaned. “You’re serious.”
“I do not kid about serious matters such as these.”
She gave him a look but tipped the shot back, hoping the liquid courage kicked in quick because this kind of dancing was going to require an altered state of consciousness. Her co-workers cheered her on, and Lane tugged her up from her spot.
A few of the others joined them on the dance floor and Marin pulled Donovan out there, her shiny new wedding ring glinting in the lights. Donovan sent Elle an S.O.S. look and mouthed help.
She laughed. “You’re own your own, buddy. I’ve got my own problems.”
Marin grinned her way, and it hit Elle how much had changed. She could joke with Donovan and Marin now. Their relationship had no pull on her anymore, no bitterness. And Marin had graciously given her a second chance after her bad behavior last year. The three of them had managed to forge good working relationships. But slowly, unexpectedly, they were also becoming her friends.
Lane spun her into position, looking way too pleased with himself. He waggled his eyebrows. “Know how to do this, doc?”
“Not even a little bit. You’re doomed.”
The music started before she was ready. She’d never be ready. But the beat wasn’t going to wait. “Louisiana Saturday Night” thumped from the jukebox. Or Loo-zee-anna, as the song declared. Everyone kicked off their shoes.
Elle groaned and slipped off her flats.
Lane took her hand and stood at her side. “Let’s do this, doc.”
The group started a long, weaving grapevine step. Elle tried to follow their lead but was looking at her feet and knocked into Oriana, who looked about as skilled at line dancing as she was. Ori laughed and put her hand on Elle’s shoulder to keep from falling.
“I’d like to blame this on drinking,” Ori said. “But I’m sober as hell. Can’t we do ‘Strokin’ instead? I know that one.”
The whole group spun and she and Ori ended up facing the wrong way. Lane didn’t miss a step and looked as if he were just a pair of boots and a Stetson shy of being able to rope cattle. Elle found that oddly hot. She sidled up next to him again, trying to follow the steps through the end of the song, but she stomped on his feet three times. She was near tears with laughing by the end.
“I’m literally the worst line dancer ever.”
“You are,” Lane agreed with a grin. “You had to be bad at something.”
When the song was over, she bumped him in the shoulder. “So where’d you learn your moves, cowboy?”