Page 172 of Bridesmaid By Chance

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“From the top,” Mary Beth calls out while everyone grumbles. “Bow and promenade.”

The music starts again, and I bow this time, then connect hands with Sloane, and together, we dance, shuffling around in a circle until we reach our original position. Christ, we did it.

“Keep going,” Mary Beth shouts.

So we continue to shuffle and tiptoe, my goddamn calves burning as we move over the uneven slate flooring of the church turned dance studio.

“You’re doing it. I’m so proud, my lord.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You can saymy ladyif you want.”

“Stop talking, Sloane.” I concentrate on my footwork.

“Head up, Hudson,” Mary Beth calls out.

“Nope,” I shoot back to her as I stare at the ground, really concentrating.

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I couldn’t care less,” I say just as Mary Beth taps her stick on her lectern.

“Gather hands, everyone, and circle.”

Sloane effortlessly parts from me, takes my hand and then moves toward the man behind her and takes his hand as well. Following her lead, I do the same.

And, boy oh boy, is this lady’s hand moist.

The moist of all moist.

So moist that all I can think about is just how moist.

And warm.

So warm.

Bacteria-type warm.

Warm and moist.

“Move,” Sloane says, but it’s too late. The group piles in behind me while moist hand tugs on me, causing me to jolt forward, right into her back.

And like a domino effect, one right after the other, we all tumble forward, falling to the ground.

Pleated dresses rumple around.

Pressed suits crinkle.

And perfectly coiffed hairdos are tampered with while we all roll around together, trying to gain our bearings.

“What on earth?” Mary Beth shouts as we all struggle to stand.

“It was him,” a man says, pointing at me.

“He’s ruining everything,” a woman says as she pushes down on her breasts, which are close to being exposed.

“He can’t even bow.”

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