Page 35 of The River in Spring
He is amused by the comment.
“Well, if you see me dance my ego will be bruised.”
“Just do it. It’s so much fun. I really like to dance. I’ll do something I’m uncomfortable with when you ask,” I say, pleading my case.
It’s an offer I may live to regret, but for now I can’t really think of anything he’d want me to do that I would refuse. I’m an adventurous sort. More than he is.
His shoulders sink, but God bless him, he gets up.
“Okay. I’ll try. But if I say that’s it, please listen.”
“Okay, great. I will. This is a good song.”
We move to the middle of the dance floor/living room and immediately I see his family watches. But when he notices, they look away. Everyone acts like this is perfectly normal. Only Gaston keeps eye contact and sends an excited thumbs up.
He takes me in his arms, and although it’s an upbeat song, he dances slow. I don’t say a word. This is step one in a one hundred level journey to becoming comfortable on the dance floor. We sway back and forth. We are slightly offbeat, but no sense pointing it out.
“See! It’s not so bad, right? You’re doing good!” I lie.
How the hell does a man so adept at lovemaking become so stiff when he tries to get his groove on? Well, if I have to choose one over the other, I know where the choice falls.
“I look like a dork,” he whispers in my ear.
“You do not. Just relax. You’re holding me and I’m looking in your eyes. I see nothing but your fabulous face. Can you feel my body swaying with you?”
“I feel your boobs against me and if I bring you any closer, you’ll feel my dick. The rocket is waking up. Want to go home and fuck?”
Just as I’m about to answer Van and Velvet pass by. I’m certain they just heard the word fuck, because they both chuckle in our direction.
The song ends and the next one on the Lyon playlist begins. There’s no slow dancing to this one. But he holds on tight.
“Okay, now you are going to add your hips to the mix. Put your hands on mine.”
He does and I make a slightly exaggerated lift side to side.
“Just like this. You now,” I say.
He makes tiny itty-bitty movements in the general direction of mine. When we fall into a synced rhythm he smiles.
“Am I doing it?”
“Yep.” I smile at my John Travolta.
“We look nothing like Boom Boom and my brother,” he says, nodding in their direction.
If ever there was an uninhibited dancer it’s Van. Kind of like a kid with no inhibitions. He’s matching Velvet’s steps and arm movements. Trying to. It’s impossible to match Velvet’s professional looking moves as she gets lost in the music. You have got to appreciate the girl’s ability. Van is beyond a doubt appreciating it. Alcohol has made an enormous difference in some people’s hesitations. Nobel is still up on the dance floor, and that’s proof enough.
“Let’s go dance by Van!”
I bet that’s the first time Nobel said that sentence. I feel his chains weakening.
It’s midnight. We lost Aargon first, then Velvet and Van ten minutes ago. Scarlett and Parrish, and Nobel and I are the stragglers sobering up with coffee and conversation with Gaston and Aurora.
“How did you two meet?” I ask.
“We met on a beach in winter.” Parish takes Scarlett’s hand and kisses it. He doesn’t let go.
“There wasn’t a meet cute for us,” Scarlett says.
