Page 37 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"Better than 'midlife crisis.'" I pull her closer than strictly necessary. "Though my mother's life partner-slash-yoga instructor says we should call it 'midlife awakening.'"

"Speaking from experience?"

"Speaking from many, many unwanted meditation retreats." I dip her slightly, enjoying her surprised gasp. “As for me, forty-five is feeling less and less like an awakening and more like..."

"Like realizing your back hurts and you don't know why?"

"Exactly." I straighten her, but keep her close. "Or understanding why people get excited about good water pressure."

"Or comfortable shoes." Her fingers tighten on my shoulder. "Or... proper leading technique."

"Proper what now?"

"Your dancing." She looks up through her lashes. "It's... surprisingly good."

"Surprisingly?"

"Well, you are ancient."

"Says the woman who just admitted to cleaning to Kenny G.”

"At least I'm age-appropriate for his demographic."

"Are you calling me old, Mrs. High Roller?"

"Never." But one eyebrow arches. "Though your gray is showing."

"It's distinguished."

"It's sexy." Her eyes widen. "I mean?—"

“I know what you meant.” I hesitate. “And I appreciate the compliment.”

As we move, Ariana starts to relax, her body adjusting to mine with an ease that sends a slow burn through my chest.

The tension from earlier—the nerves, the stress, the panic she tried to brush off—melts with every step, replaced by something else. Something quieter.

Something charged.

"You’re good at this," she murmurs, almost to herself.

I tip my head. "At dancing?"

"At making people forget they’re supposed to be nervous." Her voice is soft, almost thoughtful.

"One of my many talents." My thumb brushes the back of her hand as I adjust our grip. She shivers, and I tell myself it's just the temperature. Not the fact that we're standing too close now, that our breaths are mingling, that my pulse is kicking up like I’m twenty years younger and don't know exactly how bad of an idea this is.

But Ariana doesn’t pull away. If anything, she sways closer.

"You know," she says, "this is almost fun."

"Almost?"

"Give me a minute. I’m adjusting."

Her lips curve, teasing. And God help me, I want to taste that smile.

I should step back. I should make a joke, ease the moment, return to safe, professional territory.

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