I sat at the bar and watched her move. Me and every other guy there.
She was all alone on the tiny dance floor. Her petite body swayed in time with the music. Any song we put in the jukebox, she danced to. I wanted to dance with her. To feel the heat of her, as our bodies touched out there. To bask in the light of her. Smell her perfume. Kiss her lips. Out on the floor with all the losers here wanting to do the same and cursing themselvesfor not having the balls.
She danced alone for two more songs. One hot and rocking. The other slow and nasty. I knew who these guys'd be thinking about when they went home alone. For a long time to come, too. I knew I'd be if I didn't get off my ass and give her a shot.
I got a beer and brought it out to her.
She rubbed the cold bottle over her forehead, down her neck and onto her chest.
"Thanks," she said.
"The name's Mike."
"Jane."
"Wanna dance?"
A salsa number started to play and she started to move.
It was funny. Where she lead, I followed. Through all the records that played. She was in charge. Usually, women do things my way, but not to-night. Tonight, I let her show me the ropes.
I liked it.
After we'd finished dancing, we found ourselves a booth.
"Do you know what I want?" she asked.
I kissed her. "That?"
"Yes, a lot of that. Something else too."
We kissed again.
"What?" I asked.
"I want you to make me breakfast in the morning."
