Hayley Elliott
“Sonny boy, I think you’re in the wrong place.”
I ignored the muffled voice, my heart pounding in my ears. The glass door slammed shut behind me. I bent over, clasping my denim-clad knees, heaving in gasps of air, trying to regulate my escalating anxiety. Had they followed me? I tried not to deliberate on the fact that hordes of crazed women chasing me were my latest trigger for panic attacks.
I straightened. A gaggle of wide-eyed, silver-haired women, all dressed in a colorful assembly of workout gear surrounded me. My gaze landed on the decal on the window. Silver Foxes—Ladies’ Studio. This wasn’t exactly my primary fan base. Hopefully, I’d be safe here.
One particularly spunky senior with spiked hair and hot pink glasses thrust a water bottle at me. “Here, Cowboy. You’re huffing harder than a bull in a chute. It’s a heckuva heat wave out there.”
I snorted. As if California’s ninety degrees could compete with my Texas hometown’s hundred-plus-degree summers. “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”
The spunky woman cackled. “Well, I’ll be. Girls, manners aren’t dead yet.” A collective harrumphing resounded around the small, tinted-glass fitness studio.
“I’m sorry, ladies, but would you mind if I rest here for a minute?” I glanced through the sheer curtains draping the door and spotted the group of young women speedwalking across the street. They were on a mission…to find me, Jacob Daniels, actor and newly-minted star for the hit TV show Cowboys.
“What are you ladies gawking at?” A woman’s commanding voice rang from across the room, drawing everyone’s attention—mine included—to the gym studio’s mirrored wall. “Who’s ready to get their step on?”
The mass of grey heads parted to reveal a breathtaking brunette. She had a no-nonsense ponytail pulled high to elevate those long, curling locks from her neck. Her hair swished as she clicked a remote and the room filled with a Garth Brooks tune.
I smiled as the song triggered memories of nights at home with my mom and grandma cooking chili and dancing around the kitchen. The tension in my shoulders eased until a pair of wide, chocolate-brown eyes fixed on me. I tugged the baseball cap lower on my forehead. The last thing I wanted was another irrational fan pouncing on me.
Her gaze skimmed over me, recognition lighting her face. “Sir, I’m sorry, but this is a females-only studio. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I found myself surprised yet pleased to be turned away. I held my breath as she marched toward me, only to be blocked by Spiked-Hair Lady.
“Honey, he’s harmless. Besides, it might give us a little pep to our step, if you know what I mean.”
Spiked-Hair’s back was to me, but judging from her tone, I envisioned some eyebrow wiggling. I winced. I never thought fame would give me debilitating anxiety. I came to California as a stuntman with zero aspirations to become some Hollywood cowboy heartthrob. But I was desperate. The farm—the family—needed me … and the fat paycheck showbiz offered.
Ponytail crossed her arms. She peeked around Spiky Hair’s head, her eyes narrowed until a light bulb seemed to click inside, illuminating her expression. She stepped around Spiky Hair and stood before me. In a fitted tank top and leggings, her toned physique was clear evidence that instructing these Silver Foxes wasn’t her only gig.
She raised an eyebrow. “So, Mr. Daniels, can you dance?”
I choked on my spit, panic crawling up my neck. She knew exactly who I was. “What?”
Her smile softened. “Can you two-step? Line dance? Country Waltz? Sometimes moving the body is the best kind of medicine. Dancing is how I work through my own anxiety.”
She’d known me for all of two seconds, and she’d already seen straight to my core. I cleared my throat. “Ma’am, I’m from Texas. I can most certainly two-step.”
“Perfect!” She clasped my hand and tugged me toward the front of the room. A zing reverberated through me.
What did I get myself into?
She situated herself next to me, her hand now on my shoulder, sending a stream of comforting warmth traveling to the tips of my toes. “Silver Foxes, meet my assistant for today’s country dancing class. The one and only Jacob Daniels.”
Catcalls and whistles resounded about the room. I groaned. They practically announced my location.
A cluster of figures appeared at the front door.
My body tensed. Searching for a back door, I whispered, “Do you have another exit?”
Her head turned toward the entrance and then back to me. Maintaining solid eye contact, she gently squeezed my bicep and called, “Silver Foxes!”
As one formation, the women boxed me in, their backs to me. In sheer panic, I ducked.
A whoosh of warm air rushed in as a group of female voices tumbled into the room. “Have you seen Jacob Daniels walk by here? We spotted him five minutes ago, but he snuck off!”
My gut clenched, and I dipped even lower.
Spiky-Hair placed both hands on her hips. “Honey, the only Jacob I know is my sister’s husband’s brother’s son.”
I bit my lip to keep from chuckling. I didn’t dare peek around the wall of women.
“I’m sorry we can’t be of more help, but we’ve got a class to get back to.” No-nonsense Ponytail spoke with an air of confidence that left no room for argument.
The women collectively groaned before shutting the door.
I turned to Ponytail. “Thank you for that, Miss…? I don’t even know your name.”
She slipped her hand into mine and that soothing sensation spread throughout my body again. “It’s Abby. Abby Taylor.”
“I owe you one, Abby Taylor.”
“It’s no problem, Cowboy. But if you insist, you can help with a future dance lesson.”
I leaned closer, my hand still holding hers. “I was thinking more like dinner.”
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Spark Flash Fiction 