Phoebe
Ava and Emma have disappeared into the throng of dancers. I guess it was up to me to stir up some trouble. I stand on the sidelines of the dance trying to come up with something exciting when I notice some girls giving me dirty looks and I almost stick my tongue out at them. They prissily join the dancers on the floor where the entertainment portion of the evening is starting. Last I saw of Emma, she was on the arm of some handsome guy in a suit and Ava was getting prepped to sing.
'All the Right Moves' by One Republic starts and the dancers, including those stuck up girls, take their place on the dance floor when it clears. I pace around the dance floor as they start stepping in time to the music. An idea flickers in my head and I idly watch with interest for a worthy-
I crash into a guy casually sipping champagne, following Ava with interest in his blue eyes who is waiting by the stairs so that she can go up and sing in a few minutes. I mumble an apology and he grunts in what I take that I'm forgiven.
Then a new burst of music, pulsating and wild, and suddenly, my thoughts fade clear away, blotted out as completely as the sun during an eclipse.
I see him.
Standing, poised, waiting for his intro, his body proud and arched, arms raised. There's a girl waiting beside him, his partner, yet my peripheral vision fades to black to spotlight on him.
God, he's gorgeous. He wore a plain black mask tied back with a piece of string that had crisp lines making his square jaw below pop. A black fedora atop jade black hair and penetrating chips of peridot eyes that seem to shimmer against the tan of his skin. He's dressed in a starched white shirt and tuxedo pants that fit him like a glove. The breath is sucked from my lungs, and I feel a thrill ripple through me, a sensation I've never known before: anticipation, as if I know something important is about to happen. Something life-changing.
And then he starts to dance.
Dear Lord...
I swear time stops as I watch him move. It's nothing I've ever seen: part Latin ballroom, part ballet, part modern contemporary. And the combination is devastating.
My feet itch for motion and I bodily restrain myself. I study the way he plays out a wicked game with his partner: bringing her in, sending her away, lifting her as effortlessly as if she was made of air. His movements are bold, dominating.
Sexy as hell.
There's no cheap grinding, or tacky thrusts, but somehow his every step is purposefully precise. It's so intimate that I would normally avoid watching yet my body responds to the scene playing out in front of me. His long-fingered hands slide over the sides of her body, and I imagine them on me instead; gripping tight at my waist then softly brushing along my arm as I spin away.
My breath gets pressed and I shiver, feeling my nipples tighten. My thighs clench in my dress, aching for relief.
I can't believe I'm getting turned on: watching them dance in the middle of a crowded room.
What are you doing? I scold myself, trying to snap out of it with little success. My meandering gaze is fastened and I stay, watching, caught up in the story of love and betrayal with their bodies until at last, he whirls her out one more time and then pulls her back; faces mere inches apart.
They end there, holding the pose. There's silence so pure you could hear a pin drop and in that moment, he lifts his head to gaze out across the floor.
Our eyes lock.
It's only a split second, those piercing gemstone eyes stolen from chips of peridot on mine, but I feel the moment stretch for an eternity. His gaze crashes into me, setting my nerves alight, as if I'm touchpaper and he's a molten spark, searing through my bloodstream. The face of a saint, the body of a sinner.
Desire flares, air sweeping swiftly through my lungs.
And then the thunder of appreciative applause breaks the reverie, and the pain of my nails biting into my palms startles me.
If he wants to challenge me, then I'll have to accept.
Who is he?
…
He stood out in the middle from the group moving in synch, they were all moving as one but he moved with such precision and technique that he caught my eye. Yet, he moved without passion or excitement, a little bit too stiff for my taste. I wanted to liven up the floor, to really give the audience of college kids something to really watch.
The other wealthier dancers that weren't servers were outfitted in fancy dresses and expensive suits. He was wearing a bartender's uniform I noted. Whoever choreographed did a great job by using him as the main attraction so that the other dancers revolved around the two in the middle. His partner was a stunning blonde whose hair gleamed yellow under the lights, her grey dress swishing sassily around her knees. I smile at her tiny, delicate stature as she grins up at him, clearly the two were friends. A pang of jealousy ignites and I shove it out of my mind.
You're pathetic, I scold myself. And probably crazy, too. You've spent too long locked away; your hormones are back-flipping over the first hot guy to look your way.
But I can't help it. He's not just some gorgeous stranger I saw on the street. Watching him perform, I feel like I know him already. That's the thing about dancers, the very best of them: they pour themselves into their work, so that every step reveals a little part of their soul; every motion baring more of their heart. He moved with such grace and fierce determination, I can already see that side to his personality.
And the raw sexuality, the sensual domination when it came to touching his partner...
A flash of pink on the stage snaps me back from my ogling. Ava boldly takes the microphone and a new song comes on.
The dancers stand on opposite sides of the floor, each gender standing across from each other. I sneak up behind the blonde girl and we quickly make a deal. Ava sassily starts 'Bust your Windows' by Jazmine Sullivan.
There is no better entrance.
He stands across from me and searches my face intensely. I must stand out like a sore thumb among the black and grey dancers.
I match the other girls as we walk with the beat to meet in the middle with the dancer boy I was admiring earlier and confusion flashes over him.
Leaning close against his solid, strong body, I teasingly whisper against his ear, "Relax."
With him, my movements aren't meant to be so polished, it's the fluid rhythm that counts. Sensual, free. I've never danced like this before, and it's a new kind of thrill – unleashed, instead of constrained; pouring myself outwards, instead of containing, controlling, holding back. He's brilliant and every beat is infused with passion, a new kind of energy taking over my body. I have to go with my instincts, moving my hips with loose abandon, snaking and sinuous.
Our movements are smooth and slow as we twirl about, his hand warm on my lower back. I look up to meet the meadow green eyes that stood out against his pale skin staring intently into my own slate gray. His suit-clad shoulder blade crisp and broad underneath my fingers.
I undo his bow tie in the pause when they are shifting gears.
A new song starts up and I realize with affection that it's 'Valentine's Dance Tango' by The Twins. Now here was a song that I could really put him through the paces with.
Feeling daring now, I surprise him by slipping my feet between his in a risky move that thankfully paid off. Surprised, he questions, "What was that?"
"Can't keep up?"
He nods as if in consent then snaps me close when the beat drops with a smug smirk. I smile and nod in acknowledgement. His muscles loosen, relaxing against me as we go back and forth, trying out ideas never been done before with a partner.
We match each other, both of us trying to outdo the other. The crowd fades away as we throw out new moves. I feel the vibrations of his gasping chuckle and I grin as well. We worked in sync when we anticipated the actions, as if we shared the same brain. It didn't matter that we were surrounded, in this moment it was just the two of us together.
The crescendo of the music climbs and at the very peak, he drops me into a low dip. Those grass green eyes bore holes into me when I snap back up only to be dipped again, lower this time. Finally, I slowly ease back up clutching his hard bicep under my fingers. Our faces are only a breath apart and I notice that he has a nice smile; natural, healthy pink lips over white and even teeth that showcase his incredible, square jaw that can only be qualified as chiseled.
"That was amazing." He slips his mask off his face and I practically pass out. Not because his face was stunningly gorgeous but because I knew that face almost better than my own. It haunted most of my dreams and nightmares of that night repeating over and over.
All of a sudden, the speakers are silenced and applause thunders out, I ease out of my distracted state to see that we were the last ones on the dance floor while the crowd looked on. The resounding cheers echo for Ava, Fedora, and me. I crash out of my dance Zen.
Gasping, I bow and nod my good-byes to green eyes. Fresh air, I needed fresh air. Ava strides towards me with a frown on her pretty masked features when she sees me fleeing the scene.
"Hey! Wait!"
I ignore my fedora wearing follower as I slip through the crowd to be lost in the night.
A/N: Enjoy my fellow fan fiction readers/writers! Short but sweet!
Questions? Love it? Hate it? Want to throttle my neck? Let me know in the comments! (Even you guest reviewers!)
Thanks everyone, have a great day/night!