I immediately shake my head.
“How did I know that would be your answer?” He stands up. “Come on.”
I shake my head again and almost instantly, my mood changes. There’s no way I’m dancing with him, especially to whatever slow song just started playing. He grabs my hand and tries to pull me up, but I’m gripping my chair with my other hand, ready to fight him off if I have to.
“You really don’t want to dance?” he asks.
“I really don’t want to dance.”
He stares at me for a few quiet seconds and then takes a seat back in his chair. He leans forward and motions for me to come closer. He still has hold of my hand, and I feel his thumb brush slightly over mine. He continues to lean toward me until his mouth is close to my ear. “Ten seconds,” he whispers. “Just give me ten seconds on the dance floor. If you still don’t want to dance with me after my time is up, you can walk away.”
There are chills on my arms and legs and neck, and his voice is so soothing and convincing, I can feel myself nodding before I even know what I’m agreeing to.
But ten seconds is simple. Ten seconds I can do. Ten seconds isn’t enough time to embarrass myself. And after his time is up, I’ll come back and sit down and he’ll leave me alone about dancing, hopefully.
He’s standing again, pulling me toward the dance floor. I’m relieved the place is relatively empty. Even though we’ll be the only ones dancing, the place is deserted enough that I won’t feel like I’m the center of attention.
We reach the dance floor and he slips a hand to my lower back.
“One,” I whisper.
He smiles when he realizes I’m actually counting. He uses his other hand to position my hands around his neck. I’ve seen couples dance enough to know how to stand, at least.
“Two.”
He shakes his head with a laugh and wraps his free hand around my lower back, pulling me against him.
“Three.”
He begins to sway, and this is where dancing becomes confusing to me. I have no idea what to do next. I look down at our feet, hoping to get an idea of what I’m supposed to do with mine. He rests his forehead against mine and also looks down at our feet. “Just follow my lead,” he says. His hands slide to my waist and he gently guides my hips in the direction he wants me to move.
“Four,” I whisper as I move with him.
I can feel him relaxing just a little bit when he sees I’ve got it down. His hands slip to my back once again and he pulls me even closer. Naturally, my arms loosen slightly and I lean into him.
His smell is intoxicating and before I realize what I’m doing, my eyes are closed and I’m inhaling the scent of him. He still smells like he just stepped out of the shower, even though it’s been hours.
I think I like dancing.
It feels very natural, as if dancing is part of a human’s biological purpose.
It’s a lot like sex, actually. I have about as much experience with sex as I do with dancing, but I definitely remember every moment I spent with Adam. It can be very intimate, the way two bodies come together and somehow know exactly what to do and exactly how to fit while doing it.
I can feel my pulse getting faster and warmth spreading over me, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. I wonder if it’s the dancing that’s doing this to me or if it’s Owen. I’ve never slow-danced before, so I have no other dance to compare it to. The only thing I have to measure this feeling against is the way Adam used to make me feel, and this is pretty close to that. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted someone to kiss me.
Or maybe it’s just been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to feel this way.
Owen lifts his hand to the back of my head and lowers his mouth to my ear. “It’s been ten seconds,” he whispers. “Do you want to stop?”
I shake my head softly.
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling. He pulls me against his chest and rests his chin on top of my head. I close my eyes and breathe him in again.
We dance like this until the song ends, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to let go first or if he’s supposed to let go first, but neither of us does. Another song begins and luckily, it’s slow like the last one, so we just keep moving as though the first song never ended.
I don’t know when Owen began moving his hand away from the back of my head, but it’s slowly moving down my back, making my arms and legs feel so weak, I question their existence. I find myself wishing he would pick me up and carry me, preferably straight to his bed.
His initials are very appropriate for the way he’s making me feel right now. I want to whisper, “OMG,” over and over.
I pull away from his chest and look up at him. He’s not smiling right now. He’s piercing me with eyes that seem a thousand shades darker than when we walked into this bar.
I unlock my hands, and I slide one against his neck. I’m surprised I feel comfortable enough to do this, and even more surprised by his reaction. He exhales softly and I can feel the chills erupt over the skin on his neck as his eyes fall shut and his forehead meets mine.
“I’m pretty sure I just fell in love with this song,” he says. “And I hate this song.”
I laugh a little and he pulls me closer, resting my head against his chest. We don’t speak, and we don’t stop dancing until the song ends. The third song begins to play and it isn’t something I’m willing to dance to, considering it’s not a slow song. When we both accept that the dance is over, we inhale simultaneous breaths and begin to separate.