flashing at us."
"You old romantic, you." Clara snuggled up against him, loving the idea of smooching on a dance floor with a man again. Last time she danced in a man's arms was with her ex at her aunt's wedding, around six years ago. "We'll probably need classic Jazz for a slow dance, so here's hoping they take requests. If it's modern, there's no chance."
"What's your preference?"
"Classic. One of my all time faves is 'Feelin' Good' by Nina Simone. You?"
"Oh, I love that one. Although, wasn't she a little crazy?"
"Bipolar disorder, they say. So I'm not sure crazy is politically correct."
"Okay, sick then. Not crazy at all."
"Better." She smiled. "So, do you have a favorite?"
"Um, my choice would be Armstrong's 'Wonderful World.'" Fredrick gazed at her lazily, and she breathed in his spice. "Who doesn't love waking up to that reminder?"
She imagined what a wonderful world it would be to wake up next to him, listening to Armstrong singing in the background, and gave an unconscious squeeze to his arm.
The cab took them to Seventh Avenue, where they lumbered out of the cab at the Vanguard.
She remembered how packed it was the last time she went there. "What if they won't let us in? We haven't booked."
Fredrick frowned, "Of course they'll let us in."
Moving straight to the front of the queue, he whispered to the door attendant and offered him a bundle of cash.
The big guy tipped his hat and waved them through the double doors, loud groans at their backs from annoyed people left to wait in line.
Clara tried not to enjoy the VIP treatment, but she did.
Just a little.
The door attendant clicked his fingers for the hostess to take them to a booth near the stage.
Once seated, a waiter came over and took their drinks order. Fredrick smiled at her and said, "Haven't been here in years. Great choice, Clara."
After Clara settled for a few minutes, enjoying the sexy ambience and moody music, something bothered her.
How does a fire fighter afford all this?
He must have tipped the door attendant a few hundred dollars outside, and the bill he picked up at Sushi Nakazawa in Greenwich Village was another few hundred dollars.
Where does he get his cash?
Not a fire fighter's salary, that's for sure.
Is he a criminal on the side?
Shit, he's not a gambler too, is he?
I can't go through that again.
Fredrick offered her his hand in a silent request to dance when the singer belted out Nina Simone's version of Just Like a Woman, "Shall we? It isn't quite your first choice, but it's Nina's take on a perfect song."
"Love this version and this song, so sure," she said, her suspicions over his finances threatening to ruin a heavenly evening.
But she wouldn't allow it, for once.
She needed this night and never realized quite how much she'd missed being with a man until now.
On the dance floor, somehow transported to another time, way before her time, she rested her cheek against his robust chest and moved with him between the other dancers.
His hands held her hips and his fingers spread out over the top of her bottom.
The heat beneath his touch and the erotic electricity building under her dress as their bodies moved against each other made her pull him in closer against her.
"Can I ask you something?" said Fredrick.
Clara peered up at him, smirking, feeling a little cheeky and relaxed, "You know you're already asking something by asking if you can ask me something, right?"
He kissed her nose, "Hey, get you, you little minx."
Clara watched the dazzling display of teeth and tongue in front of her. "Sorry, what did you want to ask?"
The lights were dim, but she swore she saw his cheeks blush. "Are you glad you gave me another chance?"
His huge, hard body stopped moving against hers, awaiting her answer.
Her breath hitched, and her fingers gripped the back of his wavy hair.
Looking deep into his eyes, she replied, "The night's not over yet, but so far I'm so . . . glad."
"So glad you say?" Fredrick pulled her in tight
"You old romantic, you." Clara snuggled up against him, loving the idea of smooching on a dance floor with a man again. Last time she danced in a man's arms was with her ex at her aunt's wedding, around six years ago. "We'll probably need classic Jazz for a slow dance, so here's hoping they take requests. If it's modern, there's no chance."
"What's your preference?"
"Classic. One of my all time faves is 'Feelin' Good' by Nina Simone. You?"
"Oh, I love that one. Although, wasn't she a little crazy?"
"Bipolar disorder, they say. So I'm not sure crazy is politically correct."
"Okay, sick then. Not crazy at all."
"Better." She smiled. "So, do you have a favorite?"
"Um, my choice would be Armstrong's 'Wonderful World.'" Fredrick gazed at her lazily, and she breathed in his spice. "Who doesn't love waking up to that reminder?"
She imagined what a wonderful world it would be to wake up next to him, listening to Armstrong singing in the background, and gave an unconscious squeeze to his arm.
The cab took them to Seventh Avenue, where they lumbered out of the cab at the Vanguard.
She remembered how packed it was the last time she went there. "What if they won't let us in? We haven't booked."
Fredrick frowned, "Of course they'll let us in."
Moving straight to the front of the queue, he whispered to the door attendant and offered him a bundle of cash.
The big guy tipped his hat and waved them through the double doors, loud groans at their backs from annoyed people left to wait in line.
Clara tried not to enjoy the VIP treatment, but she did.
Just a little.
The door attendant clicked his fingers for the hostess to take them to a booth near the stage.
Once seated, a waiter came over and took their drinks order. Fredrick smiled at her and said, "Haven't been here in years. Great choice, Clara."
After Clara settled for a few minutes, enjoying the sexy ambience and moody music, something bothered her.
How does a fire fighter afford all this?
He must have tipped the door attendant a few hundred dollars outside, and the bill he picked up at Sushi Nakazawa in Greenwich Village was another few hundred dollars.
Where does he get his cash?
Not a fire fighter's salary, that's for sure.
Is he a criminal on the side?
Shit, he's not a gambler too, is he?
I can't go through that again.
Fredrick offered her his hand in a silent request to dance when the singer belted out Nina Simone's version of Just Like a Woman, "Shall we? It isn't quite your first choice, but it's Nina's take on a perfect song."
"Love this version and this song, so sure," she said, her suspicions over his finances threatening to ruin a heavenly evening.
But she wouldn't allow it, for once.
She needed this night and never realized quite how much she'd missed being with a man until now.
On the dance floor, somehow transported to another time, way before her time, she rested her cheek against his robust chest and moved with him between the other dancers.
His hands held her hips and his fingers spread out over the top of her bottom.
The heat beneath his touch and the erotic electricity building under her dress as their bodies moved against each other made her pull him in closer against her.
"Can I ask you something?" said Fredrick.
Clara peered up at him, smirking, feeling a little cheeky and relaxed, "You know you're already asking something by asking if you can ask me something, right?"
He kissed her nose, "Hey, get you, you little minx."
Clara watched the dazzling display of teeth and tongue in front of her. "Sorry, what did you want to ask?"
The lights were dim, but she swore she saw his cheeks blush. "Are you glad you gave me another chance?"
His huge, hard body stopped moving against hers, awaiting her answer.
Her breath hitched, and her fingers gripped the back of his wavy hair.
Looking deep into his eyes, she replied, "The night's not over yet, but so far I'm so . . . glad."
"So glad you say?" Fredrick pulled her in tight
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