Page 35 of Kiss My Glass
Nate stares at me and then at Danny, who meets his brother’s stern eye with a face-full of innocence.
“Don’t break anything,” are Nate’s final, and somewhat ambiguous, words.
When we reach the path through the trees, Danny stops and says, “It’s not too late to change your mind. About everything, including the dance lessons. Because I googled the Lindy Hop, and I don’t mind admitting that it intimidated the shit out of me.”
“I don’t want to change my mind.” I soundwaymore confident than I feel.
“Okay,” says Danny. “But be gentle with me.”
Suddenly, I’m torn. I want to walk on and I want to pull back. I want to laugh and get close to Danny as he learns to dance. I want to run away and never see him again. I want to kiss him, and maybe go further than that. I want to wait, possibly forever, so I’ll never make any mistake that might cause myself a power of hurt.
“Hey…”
Danny’s quiet voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Say the word and I’ll walk you back,” he says.
Say the word…
“I hate that I’m nervous about this,” I tell him. “I hate feeling less than in full control.”
“Nerves aren’t always the enemy,” says Danny. “Sometimes you should trust them.”
“Do youwantme to back out?” When in doubt, make it the other person’s problem.
Danny grins. “You forget, I’m a Durant. Powerplay tactics like that will never work on me. This is your choice. And whatever you choose, I’ll respect it.”
Damn it. Okay, breathe, Frankie. You only need to take one step at a time. Focus on the first one and go from there.
I grab Danny’s arm. “Let’s go dancing.”
The workshop is where Cam makes barrels but I do my best not to think about that. There’s an area in the far corner that’s room enough for some simple first moves. Danny sets up his Bluetooth speaker, and I play the old standardIn The Mood, just to, you know, set the mood.
“That’s a heck of a pace,” he says, looking wary.
“Don’t panic,” I say. “We won’t try to dance to it yet. I’ll teach you a basic rock step, and then we can try a side pass and tuck turn. I’ll keep count. Slowly.”
Lindy Hop is an African American jazz dance related to swing and jive, and it’s fast and athletic. When I first started learning it four years ago, I thought I’d never master it. But my dance group was super supportive, often literally, catching me as I tripped, so I kept it up. It helped that they’re also a bunch of eccentric weirdos, and of all ages and stages of life. All sizes and shapes, too, so I never felt out of place like I might have done if I’d taken up tango or ballroom. Sure, not every partner is strong enough to hoist me into the air but there are so many moves to choose from that no one cares. It’s fun. It keeps me fit. It suits my style.
I tell Danny all the above in between keeping time and teaching him moves. He’s only partly listening. The competitive Durant spirit has been awakened and is determined to conquer. His focus is intense and his coordination excellent. He has a natural dancer’s ability to move the top and lower halves of his body independently. Might surprise people, but I have it too. By the end of the hour, we’re dancing a pretty capable six-count circle. Still a little stiff, sure, but not bad. Not bad at all.
And I was concentrating so hard, I barely noticed the physical connection with Danny. It was pretty tame, mainly holding hands, occasionally in each other’s arms as we practiced the turns. Now, we’re both sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the workshop floor, resting our backs against the wooden wall, out of breath and laughing.
“You know what?” says Danny. “We could tick this off as task complete. Unless you have someDirty Dancingtype contest in mind for us to enter?”
“No way I’m getting in a lake with you,” I say. “I like activities that keep me warm.”
The silence where we both realize what I’ve said is long and highly charged. I guess, given all the opportunities to back out that Danny’s offered me, I’d better be the one who breaks it. I took the first step, and now it’s time to decide whether or not to go to step two.
“I’ve been having fun,” I say to him. “And you know what? I’m not ready to stop.”
ChapterTwenty
DANNY
I’m trying to decide exactly what Frankie means, when she clarifies by straddling my lap and kissing me. We’ve both worked up a sweat and her musky Old Spicy-style scent is strong. I’m tempted to grab her hips and pull her hard against me, but I resist. She’s kissing me with some urgency but I think it’s best I take it slow. So, all I do is gently twine my fingers in her hair and kiss her back, our mouths opening, our tongues touching and teasing. I can feel her body soften with desire, while mine actively does the opposite. But I won’t rush. I’ll let Frankie set the pace.
She lays her hand on my erection. I guess that’s a sign we’re moving things along. But this floor is as hard as I am, and I’ve already got enough bruises from bumping myself on wooden objects. Time to suggest we vacate the workshop.
