Aria

13- Aria (EDITED)

Gunner once told me that rules are meant to be broken. And right now, I must say it feels good breaking the rules, doing what I want and what I'm not supposed to be doing. It also feels good that after nearly two years, I'm finally letting my hair down, drinking to get drunk, and letting loose.

Six rum and cokes later, I was feeling hot from the effects of the alcohol as it roamed through my veins and to my head, causing the room to look like it was spinning. I picked up the drink coaster and started waving it in my face.

Gunner chuckled. "Feeling warm, are you?"

"I am," I breathed, then giggled, "and drunk," I admitted, blowing air up the front of my face, trying to help cool me down. I was also feeling a bit nauseous, but I wasn't ready to end the night just yet. Instead, I was on a mission—a desire to get so damn drunk that I couldn't walk back into the hotel myself, hoping Neron would see that I was out breaking the rules—his rules.

Gunner laughed, then waved for the bartender's attention. "My wife and I would like another round," he said when the bartender walked over. "We'd also like two large shots of Fireball, please."

My eyes widened, and I snapped my head toward Gunner. "Large shots?"

"You want to get drunk, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm already feeling like I could empty my insides."

Gunner's hand rested on my thigh, then patted it. "You're almost to where you want to be then," he laughed. "Just like the old days."

I looked towards the dance floor, smiling at the couples dancing. "I may almost be there, but before I get to that point, I'd like to do something we haven't done in a long time," I said, turning back to face him.

He picked up his glass of bourbon, and as he raised it to his lips, he asked, "What would that be?"

I smiled, looked back at the couples dancing, then turned to Gunner. "Do you feel like dancing?"

Gunner took a sip of his drink, set his glass down on the drink coaster, then stood offering me his hand. "Let's dance, beautiful."

With Gunner's hand resting on my lower back, he walked us to the dance floor, ignoring the patrons we passed along the way, asking for our autographs. As we stepped onto the dance floor, he immediately swung me around to face him. "Let's show these cowboys how to dance."

I giggled.

"Our way or their way?"

"Their way," he informed.

I pursed my lips. I had no clue how to dance how they were. I've never Texas two-stepped, waltzed, or swing danced in my life. There were only two dances I knew how to do: slow dancing and provocative dancing. I looked at the couples two-stepping beside us and shrugged a shoulder, "It can't be that hard, can it?"

"It's easy; I'll show you," he smiled, surprising me; he knows how to two-step. Then he leaned into my ear. "Just keep in mind, I'm the leader, and you're the follower. Okay?"

His right hand slithered underneath my left arm, resting his hand on my back, and his left hand held my right hand up in line with my right shoulder. Then he began moving us around the floor. With the alcohol poisoning my blood, I worried my drunk feet wouldn't handle this style of dancing, and I'd be stepping on Gunner's feet, causing the surrounding people to laugh at me.

Surprisingly, I was doing okay. I wasn't crushing Gunner's toes, and I was doing the steps the way I'm supposed to. But when the song ended, Gunner ended the dance by twirling me, causing the room to spin more than before we danced.