The Green Lace Corset, стр. 16
The guy caught her staring at him, touched the brim of his hat, and continued to dance.
“Isn’t he a hottie?” Anne leaned over and asked Howard.
“He’s not my type.”
When “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” came on, Howard jumped up and hollered, “They’re playing my song!” and ran onto the dance floor.
The hottie sauntered over to her, straightening his hat, and said something to her.
“What?” She couldn’t hear him.
He raised his voice. “Buy you a drink?”
“Sure.” Anne leaned forward and moved to the music, showing a little cleavage, her flirt-o-matic machine on. “I’m drinking beer on tap.”
Hottie sat in Howard’s seat and tried to wave over a waitress, but the place was so packed, it seemed impossible. “Shall I go up to the bar?” he asked.
“No, that’ll be even worse. Sorry I bumped into you during the Electric Slide.”
“No problem. It just takes a little practice.” His eyes grazed her body, and he put his warm hand on her shoulder. “You’ll soon get the hang of it.”
Little did he know, she’d been trying to learn that dance for years now. “Do you understand what the . . .” She stopped herself just in time.
“What?”
“Nothing.” It would be too embarrassing to ask if he knew about the lyrics.
“Do you mean about the words?” He laughed.
She felt herself turn red.
“You naughty thing, you.” He leaned toward her and rubbed his hand on her thigh over the fishnet stocking.
Her insides tingled. She liked the look of him. Tall, smoothly shaven, big grin. His eyes under his hat didn’t reveal their color. She sure wished he’d take it off so she could see his face more clearly.
A waitress finally came by, and he ordered their beer.
“You from around here?” he asked Anne.
She held up her left hand. “This is Michigan, shaped like a mitten. I’m from Oscoda, a little town on Lake Huron.” She indicated the place on the outer edge of her pointer finger.
“No, I mean where do you live in San Francisco?”
Anne giggled. “California and Polk. What about you?”
“I live just up the hill.” He peered at her suggestively, and she began to feel juicy. Was he already inviting her over? Maybe he had a view home besides his ranch. She wanted to know everything about him.
“Excuse me. Let me get my drink.” Howard reached his hand between Anne and Hottie and gulped down the dregs of his beer.
Hottie stood up. “Hello, Howard.”
Howard ignored him, ran his fingers through his blond locks, and returned to the dance floor.
That was weird. “Do you know him?” Anne asked.
“Kinda.”
“How?”
“It’s a long story.” Hottie shrugged, grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl, and stuffed them into his mouth.
The waitress delivered their beers and a fresh bowl of pretzels.
“I’m sure thirsty.” Hottie gulped down his beer.
Anne took a sip of hers too.
“Tell me.”
“Another time.” He turned his gaze to the dance floor.
What was that all about? She felt like there might be bad blood between Hottie and Howard, but he would have mentioned earlier if there was anything she needed to worry about.
Howard was two-stepping with a muscular man in a tummy shirt and Daisy Dukes. Yes, that one was more his type.
She wanted to keep the conversation going. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m in hospitality.”
“You are? I used to be too. I parked cars at the St. Francis.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“What do you do now?” he asked.
“I’m an artist.”
Hottie put his hand on her leg again. “Really? I’ve never met a real one before.”
“Yes, I make collages and mosaics using found objects.”
He didn’t say anything else; he just moved his hand up her thigh.
Clint Black’s “A Good Run of Bad Luck” began to play. “Let’s dance.” Hottie pulled her up.
“I’m not good at the slow stuff.”
“Don’t worry. It’s a two-step anyway. I can lead any klutz.” He escorted her onto the dance floor, put her left hand on his shoulder, and held her right hand in his left.
At first she felt awkward and had a hard time following. She stepped hard on his foot, and he counted, “Quick, quick, slow, slow. Quick, quick, slow, slow.”
She concentrated, and soon they were in a rhythmic flow. For the first time in her life, she was getting it. As the disco ball circled overhead, she savored the power of being so close to a man like this, guiding and gliding her around the floor.
The song ended, and she started back to the table, but he grasped her hand. “Come on. I’m going to teach you how to line dance if it kills me.”
He danced in front of her so she could copy him. Every time the group changed directions, he jumped in front of her so she could still follow his feet. After a while, she actually had the hang of it.
She continued to rotate between dancing with him and drinking beer all evening. After last call, they danced the last dance and sang the refrain to each other. She liked the idea that riding a cowboy could save a horse.
Back at their table after all those beers and adrenaline, she couldn’t focus. His voice was muffled, his face a blur. He pulled her to him and kissed her. She liked the salty taste of him and kissed him back.
“I’m Barn, by the way. As in Barnaby.” He put out his hand.
She shook it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Anne.”
“Let’s go to my place,” he whispered in her ear.
She knew her head should shake no, except it nodded yes.
12
Anne and Barn staggered out of the bar into the dense fog. The streetlights glowed in the mist. She snuggled into her coat. Linden Street was usually busy, but this time of night—or should she say morning?—it was deserted.
He took her hand and walked a block, and she stopped to look in the window of a new shop. “Dark Garden. What a fantastic name.” Her words slurred. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
She stared at the multitude of rainbow-colored