Page 56 of Strings
“I cut myself cooking.”
“But you don’t cook.”
“And now you know why.”
He smirks again, but his eyes tell me he’s suspicious. Why can’t he believe my lies for once?
“Do you know how to waltz?”
“Why yes. Detroit is the waltz capital of the world. My parents made sure I took waltz lessons even though we had no food in the house.”
His smile fades and I realize I said too much. “I’m kidding. No, I’ve never waltzed in my life.”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to. Just let me lead, alright?”
“Am I leading you now?” I ask, stepping away from him.
He pulls me closer. “No, but if I’ve learned anything about you since we met, it’s that you like to be in charge. I was hoping you’d let me control something for once.”
“Knock your socks off.” I roll my eyes when he holds me a little tighter up against him and sways me to the music. The song ends and he dips me backwards like in the movies. It makes me laugh even though I grip on to him like he might let me fall or break my back. The next song starts. It’s slow too, and we keep dancing. “So you’re a fiddle player and a professional dancer?”
“Why do you insist on calling me a fiddle player? You have to know how annoying I find it.”
“I do. It’s fun watching you get all pissy. Fiddle faddle, violin schmiolin. To-may-to, to-mah-to. It’s all the same.”
“You make me sound like I’m in a country band with a piece of straw hanging out of my mouth.”
“I think you just offended country bands everywhere. They don’t all chew on straw, you know.”
“They don’t? I suppose you’re well versed in cowboy boots and fiddle players?”
He swirls me under his arm and pulls me back against his chest as he moves me around the dance floor like he owns it.
“I’m well versed in cowboys and I think they’d find being called concertmasters a tad offensive, too.”
He smiles. “Maybe you should stop trying to offend us and call us by the names we prefer, then.”
“I suppose you’d rather I called you your supreme highness or some bullshit.”
“That does have a nice ring to it, but no.”
“Your most holy fingerer?”
He laughs. “I have been told my fingers are extremely talented—mostly by women. One could even say they’re holy, yes.” He raises his eyebrows at me and I make a puke face.
“You must be really insecure inside to feel the need to brag about yourself so much.”
He spins me again and pulls me back so that I crash into him. He gazes down into my eyes and I have to catch my breath. “Do I look insecure to you?”
“You look like a guy with something to prove.”
He huffs. “I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“Sure you don’t. That’s why you’re trying to impress me with all these bullshit fancy dance moves.”
“Fancy? I’m literally barely moving you. I’ve dumbed it down so much that I feel like I’m dancing with a two-year-old.”
“Well, if you’d like, I can go get Bella for you. Maybe she can dance to your standards.” I start to walk away and he pulls me back.
