couldn’t make me believe he meant it.
Two girls dressed in too-tight tops and too-short skirts sidled by, eyeing him. “Hey, Jack,”
said the taller one.
Jack nodded. “Hey.”
The girls eyed me next. I smiled and lifted my bottle, waiting for a challenge. The shorter girl tugged the taller’s elbow, pulling her away before there could be one.
“Sorry.” Jack looked pained.
“Old girlfriend?”
He shrugged, nodded, shrugged again. “ She thought so.”
“Ah.” I drank more beer, wanting to finish before it got warm. “She the one who called you Jackass?”
God, that fucking smile again. The real one. Brilliance. It totally slayed me and erased each unsmooth moment of this date so far.
“Probably,” Jack said.
This wasn’t the best date I’d ever been on, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Jack seemed new to this, which was forgivable. I wasn’t as demanding a client as I knew some women to be.
Sometimes the gentlemen, though they weren’t supposed to, spoke out of school.
“Jack, do me a favor, would you?”
“Yeah?”
I leaned closer to him. Tonight I wore stack-heeled boots that allowed me to reach his ear with my mouth without stretching. “Take off your hat.”
He did at once, hooking it with one finger and shaking his hair when it came off. Guh. So.
Fucking. Pretty.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do know firsthand the way my body can be triggered into full-on lust mode at the sight of something simple. Jack’s black hair streamed like silk over one eye. Short in the back, longer in front, it invited my fingers to run through it. He pushed it off his face, fingers stuttering just slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hand.
“Very nice,” I said.
He was nervous, I realized suddenly. More nervous than I was. I felt tender. Also very turned on.
I finished my drink and put the bottle on the bar. I leaned in again. He turned his head when I did, so his breath sifted over my face. I smelled beer and cologne and still no smoke. Heat filled the minute space between our faces.
I took his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go dance.”
I pulled him upstairs, his hand in mine, and led him to the middle of the dance floor where strobe lights threatened to give the dancers seizures and the music was so loud the bass thumped like a drum in my stomach. There was no question of talking here, so neither of us had to feel like we had to speak. We only had to move.
I love to dance. Always have. I’ve never had lessons, not even the ballet/tap/jazz classes so many little girls take. I wasn’t a performer. I just liked to move, to sweat. To work my body.
Good dancing is like good sex. Fucking with clothes on.
Lots of the guys up there stood back and watched the girls writhing. A few shuffled back and forth, or did some grinding. Some, fueled by fifty-cent drafts, jerked around like fish on a line.
Jack had moves. Nothing fancy, just an innate sense of rhythm that kept him moving in time to the beat. He looked good, and I caught more than one group of girls checking him out.
He kept his eyes on me, the hat now tucked into his back pocket and his hair still falling like silk.
He kept brushing it back, like it annoyed him.
We danced hard, and he kept up with me. When a slower song came on, the floor filled at once with couples doing some sort of grinding, rubbing thing. Jack looked at me. I looked at him and waited for him to take me in his arms.
When he didn’t, I gave an inward sigh and crooked my finger. That grin again, the one that made my thighs twitch, lit up his face. He molded himself to my body without another hesitation.
If I’d thought he was a decent dancer before, I discovered he was frigging brilliant, now.
He’d been waiting for permission, and once he had it, he didn’t stop. We danced fast, we danced slow. It was constant full-body contact after that, his hands on my hips and ass and keeping us connected in all the important places. And every
Two girls dressed in too-tight tops and too-short skirts sidled by, eyeing him. “Hey, Jack,”
said the taller one.
Jack nodded. “Hey.”
The girls eyed me next. I smiled and lifted my bottle, waiting for a challenge. The shorter girl tugged the taller’s elbow, pulling her away before there could be one.
“Sorry.” Jack looked pained.
“Old girlfriend?”
He shrugged, nodded, shrugged again. “ She thought so.”
“Ah.” I drank more beer, wanting to finish before it got warm. “She the one who called you Jackass?”
God, that fucking smile again. The real one. Brilliance. It totally slayed me and erased each unsmooth moment of this date so far.
“Probably,” Jack said.
This wasn’t the best date I’d ever been on, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Jack seemed new to this, which was forgivable. I wasn’t as demanding a client as I knew some women to be.
Sometimes the gentlemen, though they weren’t supposed to, spoke out of school.
“Jack, do me a favor, would you?”
“Yeah?”
I leaned closer to him. Tonight I wore stack-heeled boots that allowed me to reach his ear with my mouth without stretching. “Take off your hat.”
He did at once, hooking it with one finger and shaking his hair when it came off. Guh. So.
Fucking. Pretty.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do know firsthand the way my body can be triggered into full-on lust mode at the sight of something simple. Jack’s black hair streamed like silk over one eye. Short in the back, longer in front, it invited my fingers to run through it. He pushed it off his face, fingers stuttering just slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hand.
“Very nice,” I said.
He was nervous, I realized suddenly. More nervous than I was. I felt tender. Also very turned on.
I finished my drink and put the bottle on the bar. I leaned in again. He turned his head when I did, so his breath sifted over my face. I smelled beer and cologne and still no smoke. Heat filled the minute space between our faces.
I took his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go dance.”
I pulled him upstairs, his hand in mine, and led him to the middle of the dance floor where strobe lights threatened to give the dancers seizures and the music was so loud the bass thumped like a drum in my stomach. There was no question of talking here, so neither of us had to feel like we had to speak. We only had to move.
I love to dance. Always have. I’ve never had lessons, not even the ballet/tap/jazz classes so many little girls take. I wasn’t a performer. I just liked to move, to sweat. To work my body.
Good dancing is like good sex. Fucking with clothes on.
Lots of the guys up there stood back and watched the girls writhing. A few shuffled back and forth, or did some grinding. Some, fueled by fifty-cent drafts, jerked around like fish on a line.
Jack had moves. Nothing fancy, just an innate sense of rhythm that kept him moving in time to the beat. He looked good, and I caught more than one group of girls checking him out.
He kept his eyes on me, the hat now tucked into his back pocket and his hair still falling like silk.
He kept brushing it back, like it annoyed him.
We danced hard, and he kept up with me. When a slower song came on, the floor filled at once with couples doing some sort of grinding, rubbing thing. Jack looked at me. I looked at him and waited for him to take me in his arms.
When he didn’t, I gave an inward sigh and crooked my finger. That grin again, the one that made my thighs twitch, lit up his face. He molded himself to my body without another hesitation.
If I’d thought he was a decent dancer before, I discovered he was frigging brilliant, now.
He’d been waiting for permission, and once he had it, he didn’t stop. We danced fast, we danced slow. It was constant full-body contact after that, his hands on my hips and ass and keeping us connected in all the important places. And every
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