Page 37 of The Moon Also Rises
“Well, it’s not that Ican’t. It’s more that Idon’t. At least not very often. Only on very special occasions. I prefer to watch other people dance, have fun, enjoy themselves.”
“Hmm.” I consider this but I don’t know why. It’s hardly riveting information.
“You’rea great dancer,” Rami says.
“I know,” I say and pretend to throw long hair over my shoulder. “There’s a reason my mum called me John Travolta growing up.”
“Did she really?” Rami chuckles. “That’s very cute.”
I’m not sure if it’s the reference to my mother, or the softness in Rami’s eyes, but I feel a prickly heat climb my neck and I want to abandon this topic of conversation.
“Okay, you’re boring me now. I’m going to go dance again. Make sure you watch me with a love-glazed expression.” I wink at him.
And it’s exactly what I do. I dance until I’ve discarded my jacket and bowtie and undone the top two buttons on my shirt. I dance until my feet scream with pain, and I grow slightly concerned I’ve sweated enough that my nipples are visible through my shirt. I dance until I absolutely have to go to the bathroom or I will risk a UTI.
On my way, I look again for Rami, who is in the same part of the ballroom, but he’s now sitting. And he’s not looking at his phone. He’s looking at me, tracking me as I walk across the room towards the toilets.
“I need a slash!” I shout and I know he’s heard me when, smiling, he shakes his head and gives me a thumbs up.
When I return, bladder empty and nipples in check, I head straight for Rami but I see he’s not alone. The bartender I was possibly flirting with earlier is talking to him as he collects glasses.
“It’s so cool,” the young man is saying. “Wait till I tell my mates. I didn’t even know you were—”
“Jake!” Rami says, standing up.
“Hello,” I say a bit baffled by the alarm in his voice and face. “Am I interrupting?”
“Nope, no, not at all.” Rami moves to grab my elbow and weave us out to the dance floor. “Let’s dance!”
“Oh,nowyou want to dance?”
“They’re playing Stevie Wonder! I can never say no to Stevie.”
It takes only a few beats for me to realise that Rami can dance, really, really well. His moves are subtle and small, but they’re always in time with the music – Stevie Wonder’sSir Duke– frighteningly so. He also sings along, his hands shaking out a different beat to his feet. Just as I’m admiring his movement, he grabs hold of my hand and spins me around. He keeps hold of me as he leads me through all sorts of spins, dips, twirls and slides. I can barely keep up, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Rami is there to stop me, catch me, hold me. I shouldn’t like being thrown around a dance floor this much, but my God, I do.
The song ends far too quickly, and then the band quickly announce the next will be their last song. I’m rolling up my sleeves ready to be tossed around by Rami again when I realise this next song is not like the last. The tempo is slow, the melody a little sombre and while I know it’s Stevie Wonder again, it’s his much slower, much more romantic song,As, which I know well because of George Michael’s cover.
I stop rolling my sleeves and look at Rami. Also standing still, his eyes find mine and he tilts his head slightly. I know what he’s asking before I see his arms open. It’s only after I step into them that I realise I just as quickly knew my answer.
It would be a stretch to say we’re dancing. We’re not. We’re really only swaying but at least we’re doing so in rhythm, thanks mostly to Rami’s steady hold on me. I don’t think I’m drunk. I’ve not had a drink in hours, and I surely sweated off most of what I drank earlier, but suddenly I feel light-headed. Is it the way Rami’s hands are on my waist? Is it the warmth of his chest which isn’t exactly pressed against my body but is still close enough to pass heat to mine? Or is it how on my neck I can feel the vibration of his humming along to the song? Is this light-headedness because of… Rami?
“You two!” I hear a familiar voice and turn my head to see Lionel and Luigi dance beside us. “So cute you give me toothache!”
“Adorable,” Luigi agrees with his husband before they waltz on by.
“If they only knew.” I pull my head back to look at Rami.
“That we can barely share an office without giving each other headaches?” he finishes.
“And I thought I hid my ibuprofen-popping so well,” I say with a side smile.
“You are never subtle, Forester. Not about anything.” Rami has his own little grin.
I realise I’m not in the mood for banter, nor am I in the mood to argue with him. Instead, I move closer again and press my check against the side of his head. It feels like a test, but I know I’ve passed when Rami applies a little pressure back in my direction.
“But don’t ever change, okay?” I hear him say and it halts my breath. Once I’m able to inhale again, I open my mouth to ask him what he means by that, but I hear another voice.
“Rami, I hear you’re doing a DJ set?” It’s Melanie, Lionel’s mum. I turn my head to see she’s dancing with a man who has the same closely cropped afro and wide brown eyes as Lionel. The same man who gave the most heartfelt speech about his son.
