Page 9 of Debugging Love

“Oh. Mister. You haven’t seen ‘cranky.’” Air quotes added for emphasis.

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s right. You don’t. So let’s stop this talk about me swimming into any kind of capture thingie.”

Chance laughs and tries to hide it with his hand.

I raise both hands like I’m calling a touchdown. “He laughs everyone. Chance actually laughs.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” I say, my arms still raised.

“That. Put your arms down. It’s weird.”

I oblige, only because my shoulders are already getting tired. “You’re weird.”

“Do you want to dance?”

I laugh but Chance looks serious. I glance toward the dance floor. Half a dozen couples are swaying to the muted sax and warm, upright bass. “You dance?”

“Sometimes. And we have time to kill.”

Do I want to wrap my arms around Chance’s neck? Not really. But he’s right. We still have—I check my phone—an hour and forty minutes of cruising before we can tuck this date into bed.

I hide my purse under the table, and then we traipse over to the small square of parquet flooring. He places his left hand on the small of my back and holds up his right hand. “Do you do it this way? Or this way?” He swings his hand to my waist.

“You can leave it there.”

He spreads his palms against my back and presses me closer as I anchor my hands around his neck. I didn’t expect to get quitethisclose, but I don’t retreat. My eyes are level with his lips. I trace their outline, marveling at their natural plumpness.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

I barely hear the music as we rock side to side. His scent overtakes me, the woody aroma of his cologne surrounding me in a bubble of coziness and warmth.

“I said, is this okay? Me touching you.”

“I’ve been in worse pain.” I lean my head back to admire his face.

A corner of his mouth turns up. “Then I guess we can continue.”

The song segues into another slow tune featuring a velvety melody and rich chords.

“Do we need to kill more time?” I ask.

Chance nods. The smile moves to both corners of his mouth. He looks less arrogant when he smiles. Kind even.

My heart thumps in my chest, reverberating to my lips. A deep breath brings my swirling thoughts into greater focus. Thoughts of putting my lips on Chance’s lips.

I gaze over his shoulder at another couple to distract myself. They’re picking up their feet in quick succession, shuffling in a circle, resting their heads in the crooks of each other’s necks.

Chance clears his throat. We lock eyes. He tilts his head. My lips pulse along with the bass drum as our bodies still, the hypnotic in and out of his breath relaxing every part of me. The floor sways.

I drop my hands and step back. “Wow. My...” I clutch my stomach. “I shouldn’t have eaten that shrimp.”

“What’s wrong?” He looks worried.

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