Page 38 of How to Date a Younger Man
Damn, dude. At least try to hide how hungry you are.
“No,” she says, turning to me with a laugh. “I know what deflecting means, thank you very much.” Her dark curls hang loosely on her shoulders, framing her breasts.
Impossibly, I drag my gaze up to hers. “Red is definitely your color.”
“It’s maroon, and I know.” She smiles at me shyly. Pulling at her purse, she removes a handful of quarters from its depths and slides them one by one into the coin slot.
I mentally kick myself for not paying for it myself. For being too busy soaking up how close we’re standing, how good she smells, how gracefully she moves . . .
“I felt inspired,” she says as she slides the last quarter into the machine, then pushes the buttons to make her selections.
“Because of therapy?” I ask.
“It was either wear the red dress, or accept my fate as a cat lady.”
“You don’t have any cats,” I say with a laugh.
“Not yet,” she says, pointing with a polished nail to punctuate her point.
I open my mouth to continue this dance that we’re so familiar with . . . the playful banter, the harmless flirting. But I press my lips together when the song starts playing over the speakers.
“I love this song.” She sighs happily as “Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest covers us like a soft rain. Her face lights up as she begins singing along to the words of the first verse.
A grin stretches across my face as I watch Layne move to the music, her hands planted on either side of the jukebox, her hips swaying with the upbeat rhythm. On a whim, I take her hand, twirling her around and drawing her into me. We don’t miss a beat.
“It looked like you needed a better dance partner,” I say.
Layne beams up at me, her inhibitions lowered, thanks to the help of a little liquid courage and a classic bop. We rock together, either unaware or uncaring that no one else in this crowded bar is dancing.
“Everybody’s feeling warm and bright . . .”
As I sing into her ear, she shudders pleasantly against me. Her hand slides from my bicep up onto my shoulder, firmly planting on the back of my neck. Her thumb caresses my nape, and my system floods with warmth and comfort.
She must be feeling this too. Right?
Layne rests her forehead against my shoulder and sighs. I adjust, lifting her chin so that our eyes meet with a look that asks what’s wrong?
She smiles, almost sadly. My lips turn down in concern, and she shakes her head.
“I just need some air,” she yells over the music.
My brow furrows. What just happened?
Layne detaches herself from me and makes her way to the exit. I want to follow her, but don’t know if she wants me to.
As she disappears through the doors, I do a quick scan of the crowd, looking for my sister. Sure enough, there she is, wrapped in the arms of her new guy, chatting with another couple at the bar. I pull my phone out and shoot her a quick text to let her know that Layne and I are grabbing some air.
I make my way through the throngs of people, reaching the door only moments after Layne. The night breeze wafts over my face and arms, relieving me of that stuffy, sticky bar feeling.
Layne leans against the brick wall of the neighboring furniture shop, absently scrolling through her phone. I pull my phone out again and shoot her a text.
You okay? I’m here if you wanna talk.
Layne reads the message, then looks over to the door where I’m standing. She sighs again, this time not in a sad way . . . in a different way. She beckons me to her with a nod of her head.
“Sorry for walking out like that,” she says as I approach her.
There’s something terribly fragile about this moment, like the air around us is wavering, and the light cast down from the streetlight is buzzing with something important to say.
I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I have to be careful. “It was hot in there, anyway. Have I told you how great you look?”
Layne throws her head back with a hearty laugh, stealing a smile from me. “Yes,” she says with a chuckle. “You did mention that. A few times.”
“I mean, I had to. I look like a total frat boy next to you,” I say, pulling at my vintage print tee with mock disgust.
“Hardly.” Her eyes narrow at me again, but her face still glows with that gorgeous smile. “The only difference is that I tried extra hard to look nice tonight, and you didn’t.”
This body needs no extra effort, I almost joke. This isn’t the time for jokes, though. If I’ve learned anything from being with Layne, it’s to read a room. Or, in this case, a street corner.
