Page 62 of Dating Goals
“Griffin!” she shouts, grabbing my hands. “Come dance!”
I try my best to mirror her movements, but coordination on ice doesn’t translate to the dance floor. My limbs move stiffly, a beat behind the music.
“You’re terrible!” she shouts over the music, laughing.
“I’m better on skates!” I shout back.
“Stop thinking about it! Just have fun!”
She demonstrates a move involving her arms waving above her head while her hips swing in a figure eight. When I try it, she laughs so hard she snorts, which only makes her laugh harder.
Her joy sparks something inside me. A wild, untamed happiness I haven’t experienced since childhood. I find myself dancing without caring how I look, moving for the pure pleasure of movement. A few other couples join us on the floor, others move aside, giving Anika room for her increasingly enthusiastic moves. She kicks off her high heels, sending them sliding across the polished floor, and continues barefoot, now adding little jumps.
“S-A-F-E-T-Y!” she spells out with her arms.
I decide if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em and launch into my best robot dance, moving my arms in mechanical jerks, moonwalking backward (or trying to).
Anika doubles over laughing, clutching her stomach. “What is THAT?”
“It’s ‘The Safety Dance!’” I defend myself, continuing my robotic movements.
Her laughter rings out, pure and uninhibited. She wipes tears from her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup.
She moves closer, our bodies almost touching as we dance. Her cheeks flush pink from exertion, her eyes sparkle with happiness, and I realize I’m witnessing something rare and precious. Anika Gisler completely, genuinely happy.
I can’t stop staring at her. The way her hair falls across her face when she dips her head. The delicate line of her throat when she throws her head back laughing. The way her hands move through the air like she ‘just don’t care’.
“Come on, goalie man!” she teases. “Keep up!”
I grab her hand and spin her around. When she returns to me, she’s closer than before, her body brushing against mine. For a heartbeat, our eyes lock. Something electric passes between us. A current of understanding, of connection. Her smile softens, becoming something more intimate.
Our faces are so close I can see the flecks of gold in her blue eyes. We’re both breathing hard, her chest rising and falling against mine. For one suspended moment, we’re frozen there. Bodies pressed together, faces inches apart, the world reduced to just us two.
The music builds, and I pull Anika flush against me, dipping her low.
“Have I told you how exquisite you look tonight?” I breathe the words against the skin of her neck. I can feel her pulse quicken even as she’s lost for words.
Then, with rapid synthesized claps, the music ends and the spell breaks. But I keep her close, unwilling to let go. Anika stares up at me, lips parted, eyes alight with wonder.
She finds her shoes and we make our way off the dance floor. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with something I don’t dare name. I can’t tear my gaze away from her face, memorizing every freckle, every eyelash, every curve of her lips.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?” I ask.
“From watching Molly Ringwald inThe Breakfast Club. I’ve seen it maybe fifty times.”
“Molly Ringwald wishes she had your moves.”
Anika laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I doubt that.”
“You’re supposed to be learning from me,” I say, voice dropping lower.
“Oh?” Her eyebrow arches. “What am I learning right now?”
“How to own a room.” My hand finds her waist, pulling her close. “Everyone here can’t take their eyes off you.”
“Everyone?” she asks, and I hear the real question beneath.
“Especially me,” I admit, my voice barely audible above the music.
