Flirt
He dons a suit, but no tie. After all these years he's trying hard not to look and smell like a cliché version of an everyday pretty boy. It's because he knows that she won't appreciate it anyway. It's because he knows she loves different things. Not like a normal girl.
He's done his research.
She's flaunting an evening dress – loose and long – like what a country girl would be comfortable in, like something she could dance in. And also, something she knows would show a little, but leave him yearning more. She knows he likes a flirt, a tease. She can read him like she can any other man, any city boy.
Hours of fashion labor and toil pay off when they spy each other's awestruck glances across the room. Trying to look impassive and failing. Not paying attention to their own dates.
He watches her dance, swaying her dress side to side, the dress working him like a charm. When the song ends, his uncontrollable subconscious subdues and his feet are disobeying orders. He's never danced in his life; he wouldn't dance for his life.
With a strong hand firmly on the other man's chest, pushing him away, his eyes are only for her.
"Do you mind?" he asks, but doesn't stay to wait for the response.
A graceful swoop and he has her in his arms, in sync to the song, and to the beat of their hearts. Her eyes ask what took him so long, masked with a mastered look of genuine surprise.
"Do I know you, sir?" she asks with a matching look.
"You're going to wish you do."