Harrison doesn’t ask what “the usual” is, so I’m assuming he understands exactly what happened to Hannah. I just wish I knew what “the usual” meant.
“What can I get you to drink, Auburn?” Harrison asks.
I look at Owen a little wide-eyed, because I have no idea what to order. I’ve never ordered a drink before, considering I’m not yet old enough to do so. He understands my expression and immediately turns back to Harrison. “Bring us two Jack and Cokes,” he says. “And an order of cheese sticks.”
Harrison taps the bar with his fist and says, “Coming right up.” He begins to turn around but quickly faces Owen again. “Oh, we’re all out of cheese sticks. Travesty. Cheese fries okay?”
I try not to frown, but I was really looking forward to cheese sticks. Owen looks at me and I nod. “Sounds good,” I say.
Harrison smiles and begins to turn around but then faces me yet again. “You’re over twenty-one, right?”
I quickly nod, and for a second I see doubt appear in his expression, but he turns and walks away without asking for my identification.
“You’re a horrible liar,” Owen laughs.
I expel a breath. “I don’t normally lie.”
“I can see why,” he says.
He adjusts his position on the stool, and our legs brush together again. He smiles. “What’s your story, Auburn?”
Here we go. The moment when I usually call it a night before the night even gets started.
“Whoa,” he says. “What’s the look for?”
I realize I must be frowning when he says this. “My story is that I have a very private life and I don’t like to talk about it.”
He smiles, which isn’t the reaction I was expecting. “Sounds a lot like my story.”
Harrison is back with the drinks, saving us from what was about to become a failed conversation. We both take a drink at the same time, but his goes down a whole lot smoother than mine does. Despite being underage, I’ve had a few drinks in the past with friends back in Portland, but this is a tad strong for my taste. I cover my mouth to cough and Owen, of course, smiles again.
“Well, since neither of us feels like talking at all, do you at least dance?” He glances over my shoulder at the small, empty dance floor on the opposite side of the room.
I immediately shake my head.
“How did I know that would be your answer?” He stands up. “Come on.”
I shake my head again and almost instantly, my mood changes. There’s no way I’m dancing with him, especially to whatever slow song just started playing. He grabs my hand and tries to pull me up, but I’m gripping my chair with my other hand, ready to fight him off if I have to.
“You really don’t want to dance?” he asks.
“I really don’t want to dance.”
He stares at me for a few quiet seconds and then takes a seat back in his chair. He leans forward and motions for me to come closer. He still has hold of my hand, and I feel his thumb brush slightly over mine. He continues to lean toward me until his mouth is close to my ear. “Ten seconds,” he whispers. “Just give me ten seconds on the dance floor. If you still don’t want to dance with me after my time is up, you can walk away.”
There are chills on my arms and legs and neck, and his voice is so soothing and convincing, I can feel myself nodding before I even know what I’m agreeing to.
But ten seconds is simple. Ten seconds I can do. Ten seconds isn’t enough time to embarrass myself. And after his time is up, I’ll come back and sit down and he’ll leave me alone about dancing, hopefully.
He’s standing again, pulling me toward the dance floor. I’m relieved the place is relatively empty. Even though we’ll be the only ones dancing, the place is deserted enough that I won’t feel like I’m the center of attention.
We reach the dance floor and he slips a hand to my lower back.
“One,” I whisper.
He smiles when he realizes I’m actually counting. He uses his other hand to position my hands around his neck. I’ve seen couples dance enough to know how to stand, at least.
“Two.”
He shakes his head with a laugh and wraps his free hand around my lower back, pulling me against him.
“Three.”
He begins to sway, and this is where dancing becomes confusing to me. I have no idea what to do next. I look down at our feet, hoping to get an idea of what I’m supposed to do with mine. He rests his forehead against mine and also looks down at our feet. “Just follow my lead,” he says. His hands slide to my waist and he gently guides my hips in the direction he wants me to move.
“Four,” I whisper as I move with him.
I can feel him relaxing just a little bit when he sees I’ve got it down. His hands slip to my back once again and he pulls me even closer. Naturally, my arms loosen slightly and I lean into him.
His smell is intoxicating and before I realize what I’m doing, my eyes are closed and I’m inhaling the scent of him. He still smells like he just stepped out of the shower, even though it’s been hours.
I think I like dancing.
It feels very natural, as if dancing is part of a human’s biological purpose.
It’s a lot like sex, actually. I have about as much experience with sex as I do with dancing, but I definitely remember every moment I spent with Adam. It can be very intimate, the way two bodies come together and somehow know exactly what to do and exactly how to fit while doing it.
I can feel my pulse getting faster and warmth spreading over me, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. I wonder if it’s the dancing that’s doing this to me or if it’s Owen. I’ve never slow-danced before, so I have no other dance to compare it to. The only thing I have to measure this feeling against is the way Adam used to make me feel, and this is pretty close to that. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted someone to kiss me.