When You Dance With The Devil (Dafina Contemporary Romance) by Gwynne Forster

for you,” Gregory said. “I hope you like them.”
    She didn’t think she ought to tell him that no one had ever given her flowers. “They’re beautiful. I definitely like them a lot. Thanks, Gregory.”
    “My pleasure.”
    She watched him carefully so that she wouldn’t make a mistake. With three forks, two knives and two spoons facing her, she felt lost, almost as if she were the butt of a joke. He didn’t talk much, but she didn’t notice that until they were leaving the restaurant.
    “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Don’t you feel well?”
    “I’m fine.” The man who showed them to their table handed her a small shopping bag into which he or someone else had put the tea roses. Gregory gave the man a bill. “Dinner was delightful. Thank you.”
    “Who’s that man? Is he the owner?”
    “He’s the maitre d’.”
    “Oh.”
    He disappointed her when he didn’t ask if she wanted to go anywhere else. It would have been a good time for him to start her on the dance lessons he’d promised to give her, and she said as much.
    “Isn’t there any place around here where people dance?”
    His right shoulder flexed in a quick shrug. “Probably, but this isn’t the night for it.” He said hardly anything on the way back to Pike Hill, and let the jazz voice of Billie Holiday erase the silence.
    “I had a good time,” she told him when they reached the boarding house. “It’s the best birthday I ever had.”
    “Is that so? I’m glad you’re happy.”
    He walked her to the front door, but didn’t go in. “I’ll see you Saturday afternoon.”
    She waited for him to kiss her, but he only half-smiled, winked, and left. She didn’t know what to make of it. She did know that she’d lost some ground, that he could be a useful friend—already had been, in fact—and that she had better find a way to straighten things out.
     
     
    “This is the third time I called. I didn’t think there was anything to do in Pike Hill but swim. Where were you? This is Bob.”
    She looked around to see whether anyone was in earshot. “A friend took me out for my birthday.”
    “Yeah? Congratulations. I’ll be over Saturday morning around eleven, and we’ll go over to Baltimore and see what’s happening. Okay?”
    Excitement coursed through her. She had a feeling that Bob Tucker lived by his own rules. “Great. What’ll I wear?”
    “What? Uh . . . whatever you want to. We’re not going to a grand ball.”
    They were nearly halfway to Baltimore that Saturday when she remembered that she hadn’t called Gregory to tell him that she couldn’t see him that afternoon. Oh, well. He’s not much interested now anyway. And Bob is a lot more to my taste.
    But she would find that she lacked the sophistication to keep up with Bob Tucker, for he was constantly coaching her. Nonetheless, she wanted entrée into his world of beautiful women, bars, and jazz.
    “What do you want? Beer or a cocktail?”
    “I . . . uh . . . I don’t drink.”
    “You don’t . . . is this some kind of joke?”
    “No. My mama wouldn’t have it in the house, so I never learned how.”
    “Want to learn now?”
    She shook her head. “I’d rather not. Maybe next time.”
    “You’re all right, babe,” he said, as the evening grew late. “Fannie’s gonna blow a gasket if you walk in there at two o’clock Sunday morning.” He took a few sips of beer, let his gaze travel slowly over her, not hiding his appreciation for what he saw.
    “Tell you what. You spend the night with me at my place.”
    She nearly choked. “I’d better not do that tonight, Bob. Fannie may put me out, and I need the boarding house.”
    “I got a feeling that this is something else you never learned how to do. What a waste! Am I right? You never stayed out all night with a man?”
    Feeling as she did when her mama found her diary and read it, she squeezed her eyes tight and prayed that she wouldn’t cry. She found the strength to nod, but in the depth of her