everybody, I guess. But I liked it. It…made me feel good about myself.”
He laughed. “I guess I’d like it, too, if I had a pretty cheerleader to dance with.” Then he shook his head again. “Damn, I wouldn’t have the first idea how to even do it.”
“Do what? Dance?”
He gave a slight nod, then looked like maybe he was sorry he’d said it.
She decided to put his mind at ease and share the truth of the matter. “ No boy knows how to dance in high school. It’s more like…hugging on the dance floor.”
He looked skeptical. “There’s no moving? Just hugging?”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Well, you kind of rock back and forth and sometimes turn in a slow circle, but trust me…for seventeen-year-old guys, it’s mostly hugging.”
Mick shrugged and said, “Now that I could probably master,” making her giggle yet again.
When her laughter faded, her gaze had dropped from his, but she found herself lifting it back to his face. “I could teach you.”
He raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. “How to hug? Thanks, but I’ve already got that part down.”
“No. How to dance.” She knew a guy like him would never admit to wanting to learn, and—feeling a little sad that he’d missed out on all the things that had made her youth special, more bearable, after her mom’s death—she couldn’t help the urge to make it easier on him.
He looked doubtful, lowering his chin. “I don’t know, pussycat. Not sure I’m the dancing type.”
She’d never seen him even come close to looking sheepish before, and “good Jenny” continued wanting to relieve his discomfort. “Come on,” she said. “It’s painless, I promise.” Then she pushed to her feet and moved to the old stereo across the room. She didn’t have any of her own CDs with her, but it was just as well since the stereo was circa 1980s anyway, pre–CD player. So she opened the built-in cabinet and pulled out the first record she found: The Honeydrippers , Volume One. Lifting the cover to the turntable, she carefully lowered the vinyl onto it and set the needle on the second track, “
Sea
of
Love
.”
As the slow, dreamy music filled the room, Jenny stepped near the couch and reached out her hand. When, after a short, tentative look, he took it—that’s when she realized what she’d put into play here. Closeness. With a guy she hadn’t even meant to make more small talk with. It had just happened. What are you doing? Stop this! Stop it now. But she only bit her lip as she drew him to the open center of the room, realizing there was no turning back.
“The proper way to dance,” she said, nervous but trying to hide it as she looked up into those crystal blue eyes, “is like this.” She placed one of his hands on her hip, then closed the other in her own and assumed the common slow-dance position. “But in high school, it was more like this ,” she added, situating both of his palms at her hips and easing her arms around his neck.
“And then you move,” she said, but that part came out in a whisper, because his hands were on her now and she could smell the musky, woodsy scent of him.
Stupid , stupid , stupid—what were you thinking inviting him to dance? What a horrible idea!
Except for the fact that it felt so darn good.
She looked down, no longer quite able to meet his gaze as they began to sway slowly to the music. His movements were awkward at first, but she concentrated on easing them back and forth, and whispered into his chest, “Shift your weight from one foot to the other, in time with the music.” His motions grew smoother, more comfortable—as her body grew hotter and more sensitive.
As he caught on, she changed her focus from teaching him the moves to being sure she kept a couple of inches between their bodies. Even though it would have been easy to lean into him. Easy to show him how much slow-dancing could feel like sex when you wanted it to.
They didn’t speak for a while, the music seeming to
He laughed. “I guess I’d like it, too, if I had a pretty cheerleader to dance with.” Then he shook his head again. “Damn, I wouldn’t have the first idea how to even do it.”
“Do what? Dance?”
He gave a slight nod, then looked like maybe he was sorry he’d said it.
She decided to put his mind at ease and share the truth of the matter. “ No boy knows how to dance in high school. It’s more like…hugging on the dance floor.”
He looked skeptical. “There’s no moving? Just hugging?”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Well, you kind of rock back and forth and sometimes turn in a slow circle, but trust me…for seventeen-year-old guys, it’s mostly hugging.”
Mick shrugged and said, “Now that I could probably master,” making her giggle yet again.
When her laughter faded, her gaze had dropped from his, but she found herself lifting it back to his face. “I could teach you.”
He raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. “How to hug? Thanks, but I’ve already got that part down.”
“No. How to dance.” She knew a guy like him would never admit to wanting to learn, and—feeling a little sad that he’d missed out on all the things that had made her youth special, more bearable, after her mom’s death—she couldn’t help the urge to make it easier on him.
He looked doubtful, lowering his chin. “I don’t know, pussycat. Not sure I’m the dancing type.”
She’d never seen him even come close to looking sheepish before, and “good Jenny” continued wanting to relieve his discomfort. “Come on,” she said. “It’s painless, I promise.” Then she pushed to her feet and moved to the old stereo across the room. She didn’t have any of her own CDs with her, but it was just as well since the stereo was circa 1980s anyway, pre–CD player. So she opened the built-in cabinet and pulled out the first record she found: The Honeydrippers , Volume One. Lifting the cover to the turntable, she carefully lowered the vinyl onto it and set the needle on the second track, “
Sea
of
Love
.”
As the slow, dreamy music filled the room, Jenny stepped near the couch and reached out her hand. When, after a short, tentative look, he took it—that’s when she realized what she’d put into play here. Closeness. With a guy she hadn’t even meant to make more small talk with. It had just happened. What are you doing? Stop this! Stop it now. But she only bit her lip as she drew him to the open center of the room, realizing there was no turning back.
“The proper way to dance,” she said, nervous but trying to hide it as she looked up into those crystal blue eyes, “is like this.” She placed one of his hands on her hip, then closed the other in her own and assumed the common slow-dance position. “But in high school, it was more like this ,” she added, situating both of his palms at her hips and easing her arms around his neck.
“And then you move,” she said, but that part came out in a whisper, because his hands were on her now and she could smell the musky, woodsy scent of him.
Stupid , stupid , stupid—what were you thinking inviting him to dance? What a horrible idea!
Except for the fact that it felt so darn good.
She looked down, no longer quite able to meet his gaze as they began to sway slowly to the music. His movements were awkward at first, but she concentrated on easing them back and forth, and whispered into his chest, “Shift your weight from one foot to the other, in time with the music.” His motions grew smoother, more comfortable—as her body grew hotter and more sensitive.
As he caught on, she changed her focus from teaching him the moves to being sure she kept a couple of inches between their bodies. Even though it would have been easy to lean into him. Easy to show him how much slow-dancing could feel like sex when you wanted it to.
They didn’t speak for a while, the music seeming to
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