Come Dancing by Leslie Wells Page B

goosebumps, and I gave an involuntary shiver. I couldn’t stand the tension any longer. As I turned toward him, the guitar clanked against the bottle between his legs and knocked it sideways.
    “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”
    Jack grabbed the frothing bottle and slammed it onto the table. He stood up, his jeans soaked. “Well, that cooled me down. Let me go change.”
    He went back through the loft to his bedroom. What a klutz! I can’t believe I dumped a whole beer in his lap. He must think I’m an idiot! I stood and paced around the table. How moronic! Maybe I’d better go before I make an even bigger fool of myself . I waited a few more minutes, but when he didn’t return, I grabbed my bag and punched the elevator button until it came.
    Outside it was pouring rain, so I sloshed over to the subway. I got on the train and stared at the graffitied doors as the crowded car lurched its way downtown. Only I could blow a night with Jack Kipling. He probably wishes he hadn’t invited me over . The doors slid open and people shoved their way on. A couple with safety-pinned eyebrows sat across from me and started making out. A bedraggled guy came through ranting about rent control and shaking his cup in people’s faces. The passengers studiously ignored him, and each other. I got out at my stop and slogged over to Broome, thoroughly disgusted with myself.
    The phone was ringing as I turned the second lock. I peeled off my dripping shoes and got ready to settle in for a long call from Dot. “Hi, Mom,” I said.
    “I’ve been called a mother before, but not in that sense of the word.” Jack sounded amused.
    “Oh! Hi. I can’t believe I spilled that beer all over you. I hope I didn’t ruin your jeans.”
    “My jeans have survived worse. You vanished on me.”
    “I’m sorry, I was just so embarrassed. I didn’t even thank you for playing the music.”
    “Glad you liked it. Listen, I have to go to this thing next weekend, this… birthday thing for one of the guys in the band.”
    I started to get excited, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Jack paused for a moment. “Do you want to go?” he said. “All I have to do is show up. Then we could get something to eat. Play some more blues.” I felt my pulse thumping. Did he just ask me out?
    “I’d love to.” Suddenly I envisioned a bunch of rich rock stars and their girlfriends at a bash. My raggedy punk stuff probably wouldn’t cut it. “What would I wear to something like that?”
    “Wear anything you want. So I’ll pick you up Saturday after I get out of the studio, and we’ll go to this shindig. I’ll call you when I’m done, around ten-thirty. Want to give me your office number too?”
    Breathlessly I recited it to him.
    “Now I can track you down, day or night. All right. See you Saturday.”
    I hung up and did a little spin on my worn rug. Having his arms wrapped around me had felt incredible. What would it be like to kiss him … to touch his chest? It had been months since I’d made love with anyone—not that my sleepover with Eric even fit that description. I had a feeling Jack would be amazing, if we ever got to that point.
    I put on my favorite Floor ballad and sat in the open window looking out at the taxi lights coming on further down Broome. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much, but this was the kind of Cinderella story you read about in New York; somebody from nowhere suddenly met someone famous, and all their dreams came true. I just hoped I’d have a chance to really connect with Jack before the pumpkin imploded and all the mice scattered. Enjoy it while you can , I told myself. And whatever happens, don’t set yourself up for another heartbreak .

 
     
     
Chapter 7
    Welcome to the Working Week
     
     
    I was so distracted the next day, I made about a zillion typos. As I was redoing a letter for the third time, Harvey came into my cramped office.
    “How’s the Collins novel coming along?”
    “I’ve been whacking