They've been dancing around each other for a week now.
She's back at the casino for the third time.
She expects him to notice.
What she doesn't expect is for him to keep her company while she's there.
She likes to dance. Always has really. Though the dances she sees these days are a different sort than she's used to. She used to have any number of men ready and willing to fill to dance card. When she was young. There are still some men who want to catch her eye, but they're few and far between, and almost all of them after something. James, pretty young thing that he is, makes an effective shield against the rest of the suits and the younger men with no real finesse, eyeing her up as though they've never heard of pre-nuptial agreements.
Her standards are higher than the likes of them, and James is the proof. Especially in moments like these.
He spins her around the dance floor effortlessly. They glide to the music as if they've been doing this together for years. Whoever taught him to dance did it well.
She holds onto his arm as they walk back to their table. James lets her arm go and pulls out her chair for her. Another step in the dance.
They spend some time watching the suits, most strutting around with pretty young blonde things on their arms, doing dances she could only describe as thinly veiled dry humping. There's one couple who sits down a couple of tables away. She notices, as she's sure James does, that, unlike the other couples, the roles are reversed. He's younger than she is.
The young man orders drinks for them and gets on chatting with the woman. The lines in the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles at him, despite the copious amounts of botox she's injected into her cheeks. Olivia never did understand the purpose of all that. Surgeries, injections, fillers… for what? You get older whether you like it or not. Filling your face with chemicals doesn't change that fact. Besides which, she's rarely seen anyone who looked good after having work done. She thinks most of them looked rather like plastic.
She watches as the woman tosses her strawberry blond hair over shoulder and leans in closer to hear him.
"Could be her son," Olivia points out, knowing exactly what he's thinking.
He raises an eyebrow, not buying that for a minute.
"Her son?"
"Some of us don't spend all of our time chasing after pretty young men."
"Especially when you've already got one."
She looks over at him with a raised eyebrow.
That smile.
"Of course," she smirks, and sips her wine.
There are a few times throughout the night when she's tempted to lean into him. Rest her head on his shoulder as they twirl around the floor. But she stops herself. She's in his world now, and she respects that. If he wants to be affectionate, he can lead.
She sets her glass down just a touch closer to his. She sighs nonchalantly, looking over at the bar and leaves her hand on the table just to see what he'll do.