Page 35 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
Around the edges of the dance floor other couples looked on nervously, biting their lips and shifting their feet. Many people were still wandering around checking name tags, looking for their date. Some had rooted themselves resolutely at the bar; their dates would be disappointed if they had hoped for a night of steamy salsa dancing. Kate looked around and hoped her date wasn’t one of them.
The bar front and back was a colorful patchwork of Mexican tiles, floral repeating patterns in vibrant royal blue, rich saffron, and sangria red that echoed their larger counterparts on the surrounding floor. Some parts of the walls were exposed brick; others were painted turquoise and fiery ginger. The curved wall that ran behind the DJ was a mural of Day of the Dead dancing skeletons.
Kate headed to the bar to order herself a drink.
“Kate?”
Kate spun round to see a man holding up her name on a scrap of paper. He pulled at his close-fitting short-sleeved shirt to show her his name tag. It readDrew. Kate was delighted.
Drew was tall, black, and athletically built, and she had no trouble believing he had a six-pack hiding beneath his shirt. He looked like he could dance too. His hair was swept back off his face, which was nothing short of beautiful; his eyes were framed by perfectly arched brows. He was clean shaven. His nose came to a perfect point with just the right amount of turned-up to be desperately cute, and his lips formed a perfect cupid’s bow.
Kate wondered if her outer self was grinning as hard as her inner.
“Lovely to meet you,” he said over the noise of the music, and kissed her chastely on both cheeks.
“Likewise,” Kate said. She couldn’t hold back her smile.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” said Drew.
Kate’s smile faltered.
“How so?” she asked.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said. “You’re just not my type, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t even know me!” Kate was affronted.
“I don’t need to.” He smiled.
A swarthy man with sweat sticking his shirt to his pecs walked by. Drew pointed at him.
“Because he’s my type,” said Drew.
Kate’s disappointment instantly dissolved.
“Oh no!” She laughed. “Poor you! Shall we go and see the reps?”
Drew shook his head.
“I don’t think they’ll be able to help,” he said. “They’ve got no access to the website files and I don’t fancy approaching every man in the club to ask if they happen to be gay and dateless.”
Kate looked about her, her laughter subsiding. She didn’t know what to do next. Tonight was clearly a washout as far as meeting her potential soul mate, but she had been looking forward to dancing.
“Can you salsa dance?” asked Drew.
“Yes,” said Kate. “Can you?”
Drew smiled devilishly.
“Like a young Patrick Swayze,” he said. And he grabbed her by the hand and led her out onto the dance floor.
He wasn’t lying. He was one of the best dance partners she’d ever had, and the sexiest too; such a shame he was more into Kevins than Kates, she thought. They danced until they were both breathless anddripping with sweat, and Kate had to admit to herself that she needed to do more exercise.
To one side of the bar was a doorway that led into a chill-out area where canopied banquettes lined the walls and candles flickered in sconces. And it was here that Drew and Kate retreated to, breathless and glistening. They collapsed onto a cerise velvet banquette.
The throbbing beat from next door still made itself felt, but the music here was slow salsa and a lower volume, though no less provocative judging by the silhouettes of some couples hidden behind the veiled canopies.
“So, besides wiggling your hips like Shakira,” said Drew, “what else do you do?”
