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Who wears a bomber jacket in a club? But man can she move. Every beat moves with her body, as if she is the one that is conducting the music. Hips, arms, legs, batons that keep the music in pace.
I shouldn't stare. Don't want to be that weirdo in the club, hunched over his drink. "Bumping" into women. But if I can just make eye contact...
She continues to dominate the dance floor. People have moved around her. Gave her space to work. I stand there on the edge, like a kid hoping to be picked for a sports team. If I take another step I'm on the dance floor. Exposed. Can't have that. But need to stay close. On the sidelines, in case...
She looks up. Our eyes meet. She smiles. The stare is held for a second. Her eyes are like fire. I feel combustible. I look away first. Chicken. When I look again she has shifted her gaze.
I suck.
I grab another drink. Liquid courage they call it. Cowardice is another word. I'm going to do it. If I can brave the floor. Maybe shimmy a bit, enough so I'm technically "dancing". That could work...
I get another drink.
Things are starting to look blurry. Ambitions are out. I can do this. I can do this.
I take a step onto the dance floor. Look around. Where is she? Men and women move around me. I gently push through. She has to be... she's gone. I retreat. Opportunity gone. What was I thinking.? I slink off the dance floor. I guess it's time to call it a night. Why didn't I? My friends are already home. I take a step outside. I need to hail a taxi.
A yellow cab pulls up. But someone steps in front of me.
It's her.
"Oh I didn't see... you can have it," I say with a smile.
"I saw you in the club."
I swallow hard. Silence. It's now or never.
"You can really move," he said.
"I just to to dance," she replied.
"Um..."
She smiled. Then she turned around and closed the taxi door.
"I can't grab the next one," she says and then reaches out her hand, "I'm Amanda."
I shake it.
"How about we grab a coffee?"
Reminds me of a good old Hollywood movie.
Good read friend. Short and smooth!
Thank you.