She's got her hand between her legs and her head thrown back. Clenching her eyes she gives a loud grunt of exertion. Danny takes a huge gulp of air, loosens his tie, and glances nervously back at the door. He's not quite sure how'd he explain this little performance if someone were to walk in on them.
"Mindy. Quit it," he pleads. No response. She ignores him completely and continues to grind her hips, hand still firmly wedged between her thighs. The image is making him even sweatier than usual. "Mindy! Seriously, knock it off! What are you doing? What is that even?"
He's got her attention now, as Mindy finally stills her motions and half sits on her desk, hand resting chastely beside her. "Michael Jackson," she says in a tone that suggests he's the idiot. "Oh my God, Danny. Do you not know who Michael Jackson is?"
"Of course I know who Michael Jackson is," he says defensively. "But that's not how he dances. You looked like some kind of," he does another quick glance back at the door before leaning in to whisper, "centerfold."
"Okay. Settle down, Grandpa," she teases. "The crotch thing was, like, his signature move. It's barely sexual." She hops off the desk and looks to be about to renew her gyrating before Danny rushes forward to grab her shoulders. He gently but firmly deposits her in the armchair across from the desk. As he turns from her towards the bookshelf to turn some music on, he adds cockily over his shoulder, "Now watch and learn."
Half an hour later, he's pleased to see that she's the one gulping down air with a slight sheen to her forehead as she sits watching him dance. For reasons he's not quite ready to admit to, he's putting a little more oomph into his routine as he wiggles and shakes before her. But a moment later his pleasure is diminished when she gets up to join him and he discovers that she's still just as wooden and rhythmless as she was when she first came begging for his help earlier that morning. Apparently Cliff will be participating in some dance marathon for charity later this evening and it's imperative that Mindy join him. "Things have been so awkward since we got home from LA, Danny. Please this is my last chance." Finally she'd talked him into teaching her to dance with the impassioned plea that he'd be helping her win back Cliff and helping to fight childhood leukemia.
As she sways goofily back and forth before him, expression pained and intent, shooting finger pistols periodically up into the sky, he's struck with an idea. "Okay. Hold on a second. I think the problem here is that you're overthinking this."
"Overthinking?" She asks. And it's a testament to how terrible her dancing is that he can't tell if she's stopped at this point or if she's got an itch she can't scratch somewhere.
"Here," he says taking her gently by the waist and tugging her in line with his body. "Just shut your eyes and listen to the music."
She does as instructed and he starts to wonder if this was perhaps a bad idea as he fully takes in the weight of her body in his arms and the smell of her fruity body wash envelops him to the point he's sure he can taste strawberries. Even the music betrays him as the once upbeat tempo slows to a sultry steady beat. "Don't overthink it," he says aloud probably as much to Mindy as to himself.
She must be listening, because soon her body seems to finally move in time with the music, pulling flush against his own then away again with the drumbeat as they move together in a small circle in her office. "That's good," he praises. He means the words to be a friendly encouragement but they end up coming out a sexy whisper into her ear. She opens her eyes now and looks at him with an unreadable expression. The song has changed once more into something much more up-tempoed, but still like clockwork her hips rock into his own even as she stares at him eyebrows knitted together. Finally she seems to come to some sort of decision as she looks resolutely at his lips and says determinedly, "Don't overthink it," before crashing her lips onto his.
Danny thinks he should be shocked, but instead finds his body at least is primed and ready for Mindy's advances. Like a foregone conclusion he responds heatedly to her kiss quickly backing her body toward the desk and then deftly lifting her atop it and between his legs. It's only when she arches beneath him moving her arms behind her and knocking over his pencil cup in the process that his brain actually catches up. He thinks he can pinpoint the moment for Mindy as well as her eyes go from lustfilled and half-mast to wide and panicked. He backs guiltily away from her as she jumps down from the desk and begins nervously straightening her clothes, eyes darting around the room looking at everything but him.
"Mindy, I…" he trails off not sure what to say. Sorry? You started it? Wanna do it again? He chances a glance at her disheveled clothes and flushed skin and thinks, definitely the last one.
But before he can propose some continuation of what they'd just been doing, she cuts off that line of thought with a curt and embarrassed, "So I'm gonna go. Gotta get ready for the marathon. About all this," she gestures towards the mess they've made of her desk. She trails off and doesn't look at him till she's crossed the room and is standing at the door her hand on the knob. "Sorry," she finally says voice filled with embarrassment and regret, thick like someone's who's about to cry.
"Don't overthink it, right." He says sending her a sad little grin as she turns and leaves the room.
He repeats the words to himself like a mantra for the rest of the day. He does a pretty good job of following his own advice too, until he's lying in bed that night trying to fall asleep. And then he thinks of nothing else.