Page 37 of The Boyfriend List
Halfway through eating our snacks, Gloria declares that if we keep sitting there, she’ll never summon the willpower to get up and actually do things. So, she gestures me toward the living room, and orders me to “put my Christmas-tree-farm-lumberjack muscles to good use” by moving the furniture to create a makeshift dance floor.
That relieves a knot of tension in my throat. If we dance in the kitchen, it might feel too… homey. Domestic. Like we’re a couple.
“Okay, so do you know what kind of dancing there will be at the wedding?” Gloria asks. “Is Savannah having a flash mob? Breakdancing? Ballet?”
“No to all of those. I hope.” I break into metaphorical hives at the thought of doing a pirouette. “I think she just wants us to do… ballroom dancing?”
I reread her texts. She’s sent me a new one that in fact confirms she wants me to ballroom dance, not dance to the YMCA or the Macarena.
“Ballroom dancing.” Gloria gestures for me to come closer. “Luckily for you, I took lessons.”
“You did?” A surge of jealousy bolts through me at the thought of her dancing with some other guy.
“Yeah, Paulo and I used to do it together growing up. It was our mom’s idea of entertainment to have us dance around the living room at family parties.” She quirks a grin, clearly missing her brother and her family.
I wish I had happy family memories with my siblings to reminisce about like she does.
“That’s sweet.” I step toward her.
“Put your hand on my waist.”
“Which one?”
She looks exasperated with me already, which is a bad sign. “Your right hand. Your left hand is holding my right.”
I follow her instructions, trying to ignore how soft her skin is in the gap between her tank top and her cutoff shorts.
“My hand goes here.” She rests her hand on my shoulder, and I’m struck by how much smaller she is than me. Not fragile—but precious, beautiful, something I want to cherish and protect. Then Gloria twines our fingers together. “Oh, shoot!”
“What?” I wonder if she feels the same jolt of electricity that I do when our hands touch.
“I forgot the music.” She drops my hand and grabs her phone. Moments later, a waltz diffuses through the apartment. “Much better.”
We resume our dancing position.
“Now, you’re going to take two steps back and one step forward," she instructs.
I frown. “Won’t we run into the furniture?”
“You’re not a Roomba.” Gloria gives me another look that reminds me of how I felt when we had to wrangle the twins at the end of our horseback riding lesson.
“I promise I’m more capable of dancing than a robot.”
We settle into a slow rhythm that devolves into swaying back and forth. After we’ve swayed long enough that Gloria is satisfied with my progress, we move on to twirls. I extend my arm to let her spin away from me, her hair flying as she does so. A picture of her wearing a fancy dress that swirls around as she dances forms in my mind. The dress’s colour shifts from the black dress she wore on her date with Lindon to…
White.
What she would wear at our wedding.
I need to get a handle on my feelings before I do something reckless. But I can’t just stand by and watch her date other guys.
Iwant to be the one who checks off her boyfriend list. Heck, I want to be the one who checks off her husband list.
We move on from spins to dips. I place my hand on the small of her back and my other hand cups the back of her head, my fingers twining into her hair as I lower her halfway to the ground before bringing her back up.
She rights herself with more momentum than I expected, so close to me that we’re face to face.
At this angle, I could kiss her.
