Chapter 9
Shift, scoot to the left, kick, turn. Beau finally convinced the DJ to throw something country in and lost himself in the simple rhythm of Pat Green. Turn, dip, step back, step back. Line dancing. Everyone on the floor moved in time—well, mostly. Beau saw a couple of early night drunks slam into each other when one moved left, the other moved right.
Vine left, hitch, vine right, hitch, dip, and clap. It was hard to be angry when he was dancing. Everything was lost in the throbbing music, the steps, the feel, the guitar and vocals. He could forget about everything and just be. Music was the purest form of ecstasy, better than any drug, better than any food, better than drinking. He caught sight of Vin cat-calling from the sidelines, a beer in one hand. Better than s*x. At least
