“Artie,” I gasp, and the two men chuckle merrily.
“You little strumpet, Jed,” Bernie declares, turning admiring eyes on me. I shift awkwardly. They look at each other and laugh again.
“How wonderful that I’ve brought Artie to a place that has reinforced his desire to take the piss out of me,” I say, sending them into more paroxysms. I smile at them.
Bernie steps back. “It’s lovely to meet you, Artie.” He looks at me. “Waltz?”
“That’s Artie’s favourite dance inStrictly.”
Bernie leaves us, and I feel Artie’s hand slide into mine. I shoot him an affectionate look and get lost in itemising the navy-blue flecks in his pale eyes.
“Okay, people,” Bernie says, clapping his hands and snapping me out of my reverie. “It’s a waltz tonight. Grab your person and let’s get our groove on.”
I whisper to Artie, “He’s permanently stuck in the seventies. If they offered him a time machine, he’d have his bell bottoms on before they could blink.” People move around us, walking to the spots on the floor where Bernie has taped box shapes. Artie stares at them, unmoving. “You okay?” I ask.
He takes a breath. “Did you sleep with him?”
“WithBernie?”
He nods and I wonder if I’m imagining that hint of jealousy.
“No. Good grief, no.”
He immediately relaxes. “Why not? He’s very beautiful.”
“He may be, but his husband is bigger than me and very possessive. I like my assignations to come with an orgasm. Not traction.”
He laughs, and a few people smile at the merry sound. I steer him over to the side of the room where he’ll be more comfortable out of everyone’s immediate gazes.
“Okay. The first thing you need to decide is who is leading,” Bernie announces.
There’s a clamour of voices, and I look at Artie in question. He gives me a heated glance. “I happen to like it when you take the lead. It makes me feel so good,” he whispers.
I cough, resisting the urge to adjust myself. “Thank you so much,” I mutter. His air of excitement is irresistible.
Bernie has us perform a simple box step, and we follow the taped lines while he walks around the room, calling out encouragement and making jokes. Artie stumbles occasionally to the beat of the music. He’s as graceful as a hippo skating on butter, but he’s never looked more beautiful to me, and I’m glad to see the hesitation has gone. He’s fully in the moment, and he takes my breath away.
“Time to get into hold,” Bernie calls. “Face each other and stand tall and straight as if you’re being crowned like the kings and queens you are.”
Artie moves into position, staring up at me. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to kiss the smile off his face. I’m not used to being so distracted, but Artie keeps making me feel brand-new things.
Bernie continues, “You should be looking over each other’s shoulders, concentrating as if Austin Butler has just walked into the room. But don’t get too excited, folks. That man ismine.” Everyone laughs, and he steps to the front of the room. “And now we hold each other. The lead’s left hand to their partner’s right.”
Artie looks confused but he steps closer, raising his hand. I slide mine over his and the contact is a sweet relief. How has that happened? I went years never touching him and now being five minutes without contact makes me act like a fool.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” I say. The music weaves a sweet, refined beat around us. I swallow as his long fingers claspme, playing with the seam on my shirt. I slide my hand around him, cupping his sharp shoulder blade, my fingers flexing as I fight the urge to pull him closer.
Bernie starts to call out the beat, and Artie steps forward. I grunt as he immediately stamps on my foot.
“Sorry,” he says. “You’re supposed to be leading.”
“I’m not surprised you’re struggling with that concept out of the bedroom,” I whisper just to see the blush on his cheeks. Then I wink at him. “It’s a fact that you’re in the lead everywhere else.”
“AmI?” he says, astonishment and titillation at the idea written all over his pretty face.
“You could make me do anything you want.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t think that’s true.”