He Wore a Cowboy Hat
He was brown. Just like I preferred my liquor, but liquid courage wasn't in high supply despite the two double shots of Regal Apple Crown Royal I'd already downed in the last thirty minutes. That was about the first moment I saw him round the corner at the security check in the Rainbow Lounge. Everyone else was watching the male performers, who were quite an assortment of eye candy, but I focused on him.
He was wearing a wide-brimmed straw cowboy hat which at first glance made me chuckle and think, ‘Someone is trying too hard. He's clearly not from here.’
My eyes shamelessly tracked him as he slipped quietly and unobtrusively to the bar. I took in the bright orange sweater that illuminated his brown sugar complexion. His fitted, Distressed brown leather blazer, boot cut jeans and yes, square-toed ankle boots, filled my eyes. I kind of saw what he was going for and had to admit it was working for me.
He posted up just off the small dance floor drink in hand and chewed a straw. His gaze was intent on the performers. He didn't look like anyone else in the club, but he rocked that little urban cowboy outfit with quiet confidence. Little wasn't quite the right descriptor though. His straw chewing profile projected "big" despite my certainty that he couldn't be more than about 5'6" minus the boots. I pegged his lean build at about a buck thirty-five in comparison to my 5'8" and 145lbs.
The music blended into Ginuwine's Pony as the flamboyant male host announced André, a crowd favorite, slowly and seductively took to the floor in time with the crooning Bachelor. "Little Hop Along" downed his drink and took a casual stroll onto the dance floor. He moved in a slow circle around the toned topless, tight leather clad dancer. Apparently, his object of desire. He dropped several bills before returning to his post.
"Thank you, baby," the host called over the mic as the final performer exited the stage.
"DJ take us UP!" he cried out, and the music switched.
Little Hop Along was one of the first on the dance floor. I wasn't terribly surprised that he had some impressive moves. He added a smooth but fun style to the shuffles, wobbles and all the rest. His smile was adorably infectious as he slid and grooved across the floor occasionally removing his hat to reveal a crisp curly mohawk.
‘Dammit it,’ I thought to myself, third drink in hand. ‘When he comes off the floor I'm just going to say wassup.’
The music was blending into a Latin beat. I gathered my nerves and moved to leave the wall I had been holding up all night, ‘Surely he'll take a break now but..,’
"Hey, cowboy!" cried out a chorus of four Latinas.
Hop Along looked up, moved over to them without missing a beat and joined their newly formed circle. He took each in his arms, in turn, spinning around and around the floor. Just when I started to admit to myself how sick I was at the sight of the carefree smiles each girl displayed. He pulled the last in close, and whispered in her ear. Her head nodded enthusiastically. They pulled apart, did a quick two-step and in a seamless move he released her left hand, removed his hat, kneeled on one knee and with the right hand he still held led his giggling partner’s hand as she circled around him. The small crowd on the floor sent up a cheer of laughter and encouragement.
‘The only way I'm going get his attention,’ I thought with equal parts
frustration and trepidation, ‘is to fucking dance!’
I watched Hop Along, and his partner pull the move again, and the
crowd went wild. Considering my own limited footwork and its incompatibility
to the Latin beat, I went to the bathroom for a quick pep talk in the mirror.
"It's just a dance. He's just a cute guy," I chanted methodically until the butterflies in my stomach became tolerable.
I stalled moments more to check my appearance. My Timbs were scuff
free. My Fatigue pants were on point. The grey long-sleeved tee remained purposely half tucked. The red on white Chicago Bulls cap cocked to the left with precision. Finally, I popped a Listerine Breath Strip and left the bathroom resolved to get my turn around the floor with cute Little Hop Along.
I looked to the dance floor and the bar, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Damn!" I swore audibly. "Where did he go?" I asked no one in particular but...
"Who?" asked a girl at my side.
"I don't know his name," I replied just as absently. "All I know is he wore a cowboy hat..."
He was brown. Just like I preferred my liquor, but liquid courage wasn't in high supply despite the two double shots of Regal Apple Crown Royal I'd already downed in the last thirty minutes. That was about the first moment I saw him round the corner at the security check in the Rainbow Lounge. Everyone else was watching the male performers, who were quite an assortment of eye candy, but I focused on him.
He was wearing a wide-brimmed straw cowboy hat which at first glance made me chuckle and think, ‘Someone is trying too hard. He's clearly not from here.’
My eyes shamelessly tracked him as he slipped quietly and unobtrusively to the bar. I took in the bright orange sweater that illuminated his brown sugar complexion. His fitted, Distressed brown leather blazer, boot cut jeans and yes, square-toed ankle boots, filled my eyes. I kind of saw what he was going for and had to admit it was working for me.
He posted up just off the small dance floor drink in hand and chewed a straw. His gaze was intent on the performers. He didn't look like anyone else in the club, but he rocked that little urban cowboy outfit with quiet confidence. Little wasn't quite the right descriptor though. His straw chewing profile projected "big" despite my certainty that he couldn't be more than about 5'6" minus the boots. I pegged his lean build at about a buck thirty-five in comparison to my 5'8" and 145lbs.
The music blended into Ginuwine's Pony as the flamboyant male host announced André, a crowd favorite, slowly and seductively took to the floor in time with the crooning Bachelor. "Little Hop Along" downed his drink and took a casual stroll onto the dance floor. He moved in a slow circle around the toned topless, tight leather clad dancer. Apparently, his object of desire. He dropped several bills before returning to his post.
"Thank you, baby," the host called over the mic as the final performer exited the stage.
"DJ take us UP!" he cried out, and the music switched.
Little Hop Along was one of the first on the dance floor. I wasn't terribly surprised that he had some impressive moves. He added a smooth but fun style to the shuffles, wobbles and all the rest. His smile was adorably infectious as he slid and grooved across the floor occasionally removing his hat to reveal a crisp curly mohawk.
‘Dammit it,’ I thought to myself, third drink in hand. ‘When he comes off the floor I'm just going to say wassup.’
The music was blending into a Latin beat. I gathered my nerves and moved to leave the wall I had been holding up all night, ‘Surely he'll take a break now but..,’
"Hey, cowboy!" cried out a chorus of four Latinas.
Hop Along looked up, moved over to them without missing a beat and joined their newly formed circle. He took each in his arms, in turn, spinning around and around the floor. Just when I started to admit to myself how sick I was at the sight of the carefree smiles each girl displayed. He pulled the last in close, and whispered in her ear. Her head nodded enthusiastically. They pulled apart, did a quick two-step and in a seamless move he released her left hand, removed his hat, kneeled on one knee and with the right hand he still held led his giggling partner’s hand as she circled around him. The small crowd on the floor sent up a cheer of laughter and encouragement.
‘The only way I'm going get his attention,’ I thought with equal parts
frustration and trepidation, ‘is to fucking dance!’
I watched Hop Along, and his partner pull the move again, and the
crowd went wild. Considering my own limited footwork and its incompatibility
to the Latin beat, I went to the bathroom for a quick pep talk in the mirror.
"It's just a dance. He's just a cute guy," I chanted methodically until the butterflies in my stomach became tolerable.
I stalled moments more to check my appearance. My Timbs were scuff
free. My Fatigue pants were on point. The grey long-sleeved tee remained purposely half tucked. The red on white Chicago Bulls cap cocked to the left with precision. Finally, I popped a Listerine Breath Strip and left the bathroom resolved to get my turn around the floor with cute Little Hop Along.
I looked to the dance floor and the bar, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Damn!" I swore audibly. "Where did he go?" I asked no one in particular but...
"Who?" asked a girl at my side.
"I don't know his name," I replied just as absently. "All I know is he wore a cowboy hat..."