Page 63 of It's Complicated

“And what’s that?”

“Dancing.”

“I’m not going to stop you.”

She lifts my hand and twirls underneath my stretched arm. “No, you’re going to dance with me.”

“I doubt it.”

“Wanna bet?” Lori lets go of my hand and bounces on her flat heels.

I watch her for a few moments, and then I study our room. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me if I win?”

“What would you want?”

I stand up and stalk toward her. Lori backs away until her shoulders are pressed against the wall. I crowd her space. Lori licks her lips, and I lean in to kiss her. It’s electric.

I run my hands up the small of her back and move my lips closer to her ear. “Dibs on the shower for a month.”

Since we started dating for real, I spend most nights at her place and she always gets in the shower first in the morning. Aaaand she takes forever in there.

Lori pushes me back and looks up at me. “Dibs on the shower? Is that really your only heart’s desire?”

I shrug. “I don’t particularly enjoy taking lukewarm showers.”

Her mouth gapes open in outrage. “Are you accusing me of stealing all the hot water?”

“I’m just stating a fact. I’ve never seen anyone take such long showers.”

“Sorry.” Lori bites her lip again. “I thought your super fancy apartment got an infinite supply of warm water or something. It never seems to run out.”

I want to point out that it’s not just at my house where we barely ever go as per her demanding pets. But she already looks distraught, so instead I tease her some more. “At least I have your celestial singing to console me.”

Lori pushes me away for good now. “That, I’m not sorry for. If you don’t appreciate Taylor Swift, then we can’t ever be together.”

I laugh. “What do you want if you win?”

I see a light flicker in her eyes.

“Nu-uh, Archibald, that’s against the rules.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she protests.

“You didn’t have to.”

Lori comes closer to me and wraps her arms around my waist. “I was about to propose that if I win, we shower together, so we won’t have to fight about the hot water.”

I take a step back after having a vivid vision of what seeing Lori naked under the shower would do to me. “Yep, totally against the rules. Think of something else, Lola.”

She pouts. “You’re such a party pooper.”

I smile and grab her hand. “Let’s go before the others begin to wonder where we’ve disappeared to.”

The French Quarter is busy on a Friday night. It’s not Mardi Gras yet, but the streets are already buzzing with all sorts of people. A man is singing to the crowd on a balcony. Below him, a river of street performers and revelers flows around us.

We follow a zigzagging path down the narrow alleys filled with tourists and shop stalls, making a beeline for Bourbon Street. Live music pours out of every bar and restaurant we pass, the fast rhythm already pounding in my chest. The guys soontire of wandering around aimlessly and walk into a random bar. Inside, it’s dark, it’s crowded, the music is blaring, people are dancing, and glasses keep clinking. We’re lucky to find a free table by the window, and the guys go straight to the bar where they order the first round of drinks. Soon followed by another.

Lori gulps down her second mojito and then drops her empty glass on the table and places her hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the dancefloor, where it’s even darker and sweatier and louder. Lori slinks her body against mine, her head on my shoulder. It doesn’t take long before I get distracted as we sway in time with the music. She smells of perfume and shampoo—I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Lori turns, her fingers tugging at my T-shirt. She pulls my face down to hers, and we’re kissing and dancing at the same time.

---