"I'm no good at this," he says, gesturing hopelessly to himself. He's wearing ripped army fatigues and a NCR Trooper tunic that is about two sizes too big for him. Carla eyes him appreciatively, silently lamenting the fact that his shirt wasn't two sizes too small instead. His red beret sits crookedly on his head from where she had played with it during the night. Craig Boone rests his elbows on the bar with a slight blush coloring his cheeks underneath his sunglasses.
"It's okay, sweetheart," she says and his cheeks turn darker, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "You don't have to be a good dancer to dance with me."
"I'll step on your feet," he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't have any rhythm." She takes his hand in hers and gently tugs him to his feet.
"Then let me lead," she says with a grin. "That won't infringe on your soldier boy masculinity, will it, Mr. Criag Boone of First Recon?"
"You can lead me anywhere, ma'am," he says, that wide and rare goofy grin breaking over his face. He follows her to the dance floor. Swank catches her eye and winks. She can't help grinning back at him as she pulls Craig up the stairs and into the Ace Theater. He follows her almost shyly, his hand holding hers like he never wants to let go of it. Couples dot the floor already, most too drunk to do anything more than sway against each other.
"Come're," Carla says, pulling him toward her. He stumbles, caught off guard by the action, and she places her hands flat against his chest to help steady him. "You okay there?"
"Yeah," he says. "Never better." Her hands slide down into their proper places, one on his waist and the other clasped in his.
"Okay," she says with a soft smile. "The first rule of dancing is to just move to the rhythm of the music."
"No rhythm, remember?"
"Then we'll improvise," she says. "Just move back and forth, like this." She begins to sway on the balls of her feet and, unconvinced, Craig begins to do the same.
"This doesn't feel like dancing," he says.
"It helps if you move in closer," she says, pressing herself up against him. He lets out a sharp gasp and she tilts her head up to look at him. "Like this."' The music begins to slow into an easy love song but the beating of Carla's heart only seems to speed up in response.
"Ma'am," he says, half nervous and half brave. "Is this just an excuse to get in my personal space?"
"Would it bother you if it was? And I told you, it's Carla."
"Not at all," he says. Hesitantly, he leans his face down closer to hers and the arm around her waist tightens. He stares at her for a long moment, as if he can't believe what he is seeing. Eyes half-lidded, Carla mutters,
"This is your cue to kiss me, soldier boy."
She didn't have to tell him twice.
