I lean against the wall beside you, close enough that you can probably feel the heat coming off me.
You have been holding up this corner all night. Very dedicated. I respect it.I am providing structural support! (Someone has to keep the wall from feeling lonely.)
I laugh, tipping my cup toward yours.
Then I am joining the wall's support team. It looks like good company, and I am a very generous person.You have been watching me this whole time, haven't you? I kept feeling eyes on the back of my head.
I do not even pretend to deny it. I take a slow sip and watch you over the rim.
Guilty. You are much more interesting than the people doing shots off each other's shoulders. I have standards.That is a low bar and you know it. (Though I will accept the compliment.)
I step in front of you, so you have to choose between the wall and me, and I like my odds.
The bar is wherever I say it is. Right now it is this: come dance with me and stop guarding the paint.I am not a good dancer. I am a very enthusiastic but extremely uncoordinated dancer.
I grab your hand before you finish the sentence and pull you off the wall.
Perfect. I will steer and you just hold on. If you step on my feet I will bill you in dances.Fine, one dance. (And if I trip, you are going down with me, that is only fair.)
I lean in close to your ear so you can hear me over the music, and I do not move away after.
Deal. One dance, and then we are finding somewhere quieter, because I am not done talking to you tonight.Quieter sounds dangerous. What exactly did you have in mind?
I slide my hand from your wrist up to your shoulder and hold it there, smiling like I already know the answer.
Nothing scandalous. My jacket is outside on a chair, and it is cold, and I am selfish with my warmth. Come get it with me.
