"What have I gotten into?"

"Come on," Nancy tugged on Ned's arm. "They're gonna close soon."

"And why do you suddenly have an overwhelming desire to buy some overpriced souvenirs?"

She stopped, on the street, right in front of a bodega, and hooked her finger under the hem of her dress, pulled it away from her legs. "This? Is all I've got with me. And it's a little bit much to wear on the plane back to Chicago."

"Oh, I don't know, I think it looks good."

She laughed at the carefully innocent look on his face. "You would."

She had gone along easily enough with him, to the tiny restaurant nestled between incomprehensible signs in sharp angular print and faded striped awnings, once she had assured him that she was finished for the night, that she wouldn't get in trouble for staying over with him. He'd opted out of offering to split some sort of outrageously decadent dessert with her, because she would have expected it. Instead, he waited until she protested that she was stuffed, then finished hers off.

He didn't know what she said to the unsmiling owner standing just inside the bodega, but a minute later she was inside, browsing through plastic racks of garish tourist shirts. He flipped through postcards and keychains, keeping her at the edge of his sight, and in just under five minutes she was standing at the counter, a bright smile on her face, a pair of black sweatpants with "NY Angel" printed over the hip and a white I Love NY t-shirt under her hands.

Ned walked over with two shot glasses in his hand, and the cashier rang it all up, expressionless. Ned slipped a bill over the counter, and Nancy walked out onto the street again, heels clicking on the sidewalk, the thin plastic bag swinging from her wrist.

"Thanks."

He shrugged, smiling when she laced her fingers through his. "I don't think that was our final destination, was it."

She shook her head. "But you said you trusted me, so."

"Do I have much choice?" he laughed. "I can't seem to say no to you."

She grinned. "Good."

Three blocks later, she led him into the mouth of a dark alley, the kind of place where he half-expected to see prostitutes waiting. She swung her hips to avoid a trash can, still leading him by the hand, and then pushed open a door he could barely see in the darkness.

He followed her inside without hesitation.

The club was smoky and dim, the floors spread with once-rich, now shabby carpets, everything in dusky red, matte gold, black. She exchanged a half-hug with the bouncer at the door, who nodded Ned in only because Nancy's fingers were laced tight around his. From the other room he could hear the muted shrill blast of trumpets and trombones, the bass drum pounding in the floor. Then she swept through a beaded curtain, which fell soft against his shoulders, and they were in.

He had never seen anything like it. The ubiquitous bar was in the back corner, but the low close stage barely held the four musicians and their instruments. The floor before the stage had been worn dull with the press of a thousand feet, and Nancy, who had dropped his hand to hurriedly pin her hair up again, fit right in with the rest of the girls. Their faces glowed in the light, their hair shining and curled close to their faces, their skirts falling just above their knees, their long thin arms bare. He hadn't seen her put on the bright lipstick, but her teeth gleamed when she grinned at him, her eyes sparkling. A thin strata of smoke twirled around their necks. His foot was already tapping in time.

"Dance?"

"Buy me a drink first."

The tables were all crowded around to the walls. One overexuberant couple almost jostled his elbow, but he recovered the drinks in time, smiling at their wordless apology. Nancy had her chin propped in her hand when he placed the Manhattan in front of her.

"I thought it was appropriate."

"Thanks." She nodded at his. "Good thing we go everywhere in cabs."

He raised his glass, then drained it, catching the cherry at the bottom on his tongue. She tilted her head back and drank hers quickly, and he caught the faint reflexive spasm on her face before she smiled.

"Now we dance."

Swing had just been coming back into fashion the year he'd graduated college, and his girlfriend at the time had dragged him to her sorority house's jazz night, so when Nancy started swinging her hips, the hem of her dress rippling over her knees, he knew what to do. She was athletic, but incredibly graceful, and so light in his arms that when he slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her over his head, their movements were sure and easy. The brass gleamed on the stage, the loud whine of the trumpet, the trombone, the sax, the players' puffed cheeks and dancing fingers and sleeves rolled up to reveal glistening forearms, and every time his fingers touched hers, her waist, her arm, the euphoria he felt in her presence grew just a little bit more.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

She twirled away from him, and the rose in her hair was bright under the dim lights, the fringed low lamps on the tables. "I don't know," she confessed, when they were close enough to speak again, over the squeal of the horns. "There are a few things I've never tried."

"Really."

"Don't get your hopes up, Nickerson," she laughed, as he swung her.

They took a break when the band did, and he ordered waters with their next round. She drank half of hers before she tossed back another Manhattan. "You know," she said, regarding him with her eyes half-lidded, her arm resting along the length of the table with her pale forearm up, "you're really good out there."

He smiled and covered it by taking a sip of his drink. "You weren't half bad yourself."

She opened and closed her fingers and he rested his hand, palm-down, against hers, and it might have been the look in her eyes or his third drink or the sweet bite of the cigar smoke, but he felt that he had never touched anyone more intimately. She met his gaze and didn't move her hand away, and he was speechless.

Then, in the shadows behind the stage, another curtain pulled back, and he saw why it had seemed so small before. The piano swallowed the floor space effortlessly, all in gleaming black, and a young man who seemed to be all legs and arms unpacked a bass and set it up beside, always keeping his eyes low and hidden in the shadow under the brim of his hat. The crowd's murmur swelled, and when Ned glanced around he saw every face in the room turned in breathless expectation to the stage, cigarettes smoking motionless from between long thin fingers, hair swept back from gleaming foreheads, the length of smooth legs under the bare low tables.

"How do you know about this place?"

Her fingertip moved against his palm, and his mouth went dry. She shrugged and the white rose shifted in the bed of her red-gold curls. "Just something I picked up," she said, her voice low and rich. "I've known about it for a long time, but I have to say, I've never danced with a guy who was as good as you were out there. And I've danced with a lot of guys."

He linked his fingers around her slender wrist, and her fingers curled up to rest against the heel of his hand, and he held her gaze. "A lot of guys, huh."

She blushed faintly. "Not every guy," she murmured.

A man walked on stage carrying a silver trumpet loose in his right hand, and as the piano began, soft and slow, Nancy raised her eyebrow to Ned. He rose with the rest of the couples and held out his hand, ready to lead her out onto the floor. She kicked her shoes off first and left them under the table, gliding on the balls of her feet to join him.

"You must really trust me."

"You've proven yourself," she shrugged, and he watched the slow sweep of her hips as she danced close to him, wrapping her arm up and under his to rest her hand against his left shoulder, her cheek resting against his right. He held his right palm lightly against the small of her back, barely breathing as they began to move together.

He closed his eyes and she was warm and he could almost feel her breathing against his breastbone. Their feet shuffled slow together, in a tight circle, as the saxophone joined the piano and bass, and his fingertips traced just over the tangle of curls pinned up at the back of her head. She nestled into his shoulder and her lips brushed the skin just above the button at his collar and his heart stopped for a second.

He had resigned himself to never feeling this way, but here, away from his life and hers, this entire stolen evening had almost made him feel that he had been premature. He opened his eyes slowly, and she was so close to him, the line of her cheeks gleaming. He lifted his hand and stroked it down the line of her spine, against the thin warmth of the silk, and under the soft wail of the sax he heard her make a small noise, and draw ever so slightly toward him.

"If they keep playing like this much longer..."

She tilted her head back, her eyes opening lazily, and they were too close, far too close. "Then what?"

His gaze dropped to her lips, and he could feel himself tilting his face toward her. Hell, oh hell...

The sax dropped out, the trumpet, the piano, leaving only the low mournful sound of the bass. He took a long breath and then the music began again, a riotous sound, rising to shrill joy, and he shook his head.

"Mind if we sit this one out?"

She shook her head, and her fingers trailed down the back of his shoulder, to his elbow, to his hand before they walked back to the table together. He signaled the waitress, who wore her hair in a short jet-black bob paired with heavily black eyelashes, and she brought over another pair of martinis.

"What were you going to say earlier?"

He tossed his drink back, catching the cherry on his tongue again. "Nothing," he managed. She reached for her own drink, wrapping her fingers just under the bowl, and her dress's thin strap slid down her shoulder. She hooked her fingers around it and drew it back up and he couldn't stop watching it, her skin was so smooth and perfect and he loved her then, briefly, intently, and it left him speechless.

"No, really."

Her cherry was still resting in the pool of amber liquid at the bottom of her glass. She curved her fingers down to grab it, and he could see her tongue when she dropped it into her mouth.

I'm drunk. I have to be drunk. I've never been this drunk so easily in my life. And I'm going to ruin this by saying something stupid.

"I was thinking that this would be a great night, if I didn't have to get up early in the morning and finish the deal."

She picked up her glass and swirled it so that the liquid gleamed. "It hasn't been a great night?"

She turned her gaze on him from under lowered lashes, and he smiled. "I guess I just don't want it to end."

She returned his smile. "Me either," she sighed. "But maybe we can get one more dance in."

He dipped his head in agreement.

She slipped her shoes back on, and she was invulnerable and perfect and incredibly lovely, but he missed the vulnerability and the feel of her palm against his shoulder blade. They danced, breathless, swirling around each other, their gazes almost always locked, and when the trumpet finished with one final blare the crowd gathered around them clapped. He hadn't even noticed that they were alone in the corona until that moment.

"Well, we can't top that," he laughed, breathless.

She grinned at him, her cheeks flushed, the rose falling from her hair, and he reached up to touch it. "You sure?"

"No," he admitted.

Once they headed out of the club, and Ned noticed with some amusement that she hugged the bouncer again on the way out, they found a taxi and directed it back to his hotel. She dug through the plastic bag and pulled out one of the shot glasses.

"You collect these?"

He shook his head. "Already have some. I just... felt like having something."

"Two shot glasses?"

"Well, one was for you, but if you don't want it..."

She punched his arm lightly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For putting up with me. And being such an excellent dance partner."

He gave her a solemn mock bow. "Anytime."

They stumbled into the hotel lobby together, laughing, and she was just approaching the front desk when he looped his arm through hers.

"What are you doing?"

She nodded at the desk and the sleepy clerk behind it. "Getting a room?"

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "I thought we were back here so you could get some sleep...?"

"Sure we are, but... why don't you just stay in my room tonight?"

She snorted. "Oh, come on, Ned..."

"No, not like that." He shook his head. "I mean... my room's already paid for, it has two beds, why bother paying for another one when we're just going to sleep... I swear to you, I'm not gonna try anything. Besides, if I did, I'm convinced that you'd be able to kick my ass without even trying."

She laughed. "Probably," she admitted. Her fist clenched the plastic bag between her fingers. "And you mean it. Straight to sleep."

He raised his hand and held three fingers together, in a scout's-honor gesture. "Straight to sleep."

She sighed, but the corners of her mouth were twitching. "Oh, all right. I didn't know that you invited girls to bed on the first date."

"What can I say," he said, pressing the button to summon the elevator. "You're just special."

Back in his room, she sat down on the bed furthest from the door and slipped out of her shoes, while he vanished into the bathroom with his heart pounding in his ears. He brushed his teeth and changed into sweatpants, and walked out with his chest bare. The color rose in her cheeks when she saw him.

"Um. You don't have a clean shirt I could wear to bed, do you."

"Sure," he said hastily, digging through his suitcase. He tossed her a plain white pocketed t-shirt, and watched her slide the pins out of her hair, lay the rose carefully on her side of the nightstand. He picked up the phone and made arrangements for his wake-up call, looking carefully away from her, but when he turned back she still sat on the edge of the bed, in her dress, bare legs dangling over the side.

"I didn't do this to... oh, hell," he muttered. "If you're uncomfortable, I'll go downstairs right now and get you another room. I know you weren't planning on staying over, anyway..."

She shook her head. "No, it's all right," she said softly. "I'll need to borrow a little bit of your toothpaste, but... yeah. I'll be right back."

The room was too quiet, after she vanished into the bathroom. He touched the remote, but didn't turn the television on. The last time he'd shared a hotel room with a girl, he'd been a junior in college and it had been spring break, and there had been eleven other people in the room, in sleeping bags or curled up tight in uncomfortable armchairs, grabbing a few hours of sleep before they went out to the beach again. Before that, it had been a prom night, an awkward and utterly forgettable evening. He couldn't even remember the color of her dress or the name of the hotel.

She walked out still in her dress, licking her teeth. She went immediately to the drapes and pulled them tight, then to the door.

"You mind if I go ahead and turn out the lights?"

He shook his head, and a minute later he was blindly listening for the creak in the other bed. She scrambled under the covers and he heard her moving against the stiff sheets. "Would it offend you too much if I said this reminded me of the sleepovers I used to have with Bess and George when we were little?"

"And what did those involve?" He laced his fingers behind his head, then laughed in surprise when a pillow landed on his stomach. "What, you want to have a pillow fight?"

"Please don't," she replied, her voice just carrying over the rasping gurgle of the air conditioner under the window. "No pillow fight. For tonight, we're going to pretend like there's a twenty-mile gulf between us, and we're going to sleep. Right?"

"Right," he replied. Even if there was before tonight, there's not anymore. You can't fool me.

He scooped up the pillow and tossed it back onto her bed, and she startled, and laughed. "Ned."

"What can I say," he said, mock-innocent. "Guess I just have a good arm."

The bedsprings creaked as she shifted. "Good night, Ned."

"Good night," he sighed. "As long as you realize you still owe me a first date."

"What?" She clicked on the lamp between them, and he looked at her in surprise, her hair hanging loose around her face, the white sleeve of his shirt showing from beneath the covers. "That wasn't a date?"

He propped his head up on his elbow, facing her. "It was," he admitted. "And it was great. But I didn't get to pick you up, or grab the check out of your hand and pay it, or offer to split dessert for you, or..."

"Or what?" She sounded a little amused.

"Or walk you to your door at the end of the night when we've both had a little too much to drink..."

"And then after that we would have done the awkward things? I would have asked you if you wanted coffee, you would have come in knowing that Bess and George were on the other side of the kitchen door listening to every word we were saying..."

He laughed. "Doesn't sound quite as romantic, when you put it that way."

She smiled. "So it should be romantic."

"I'd hope so."

Their gazes caught and held for a long moment, before she seemed to come to herself again, and looked away, the smile still on her face. "Then it will be. Good night, Ned."

"Good night, Nancy."

She clicked the lamp off, but it was still a long time before he could fall asleep.