She wanted to go dancing. She goes dancing nearly every Tuesday night with Ags. Of course, this week Ags had to bow out last minute. Inara said that she didn't mind going by herself this week. It was a great stress relief for her I knew—a chance for her to get out of her head, to let loose in a different way. I just didn't know if I liked the idea of her going alone. So I blurted that I'd go with her. She smiled at me gratefully. She had packed her dress with her and her special dancing heels. It was a Latin dance club or something. I guess I never really had paid as much attention to what this place was.
It had a bar, and that's where I parked myself. I know, I took her to a dance club, but here's the thing—I don't dance. I
can't
dance. And I certainly knew that I couldn't dance to the caliber of those who were on the floor even as we got there.
Dancing with the Stars
didn't come close to how good some of these dancers were. I ordered a beer. She looked around, waving at several people. She turned to me and said, "You wouldn't want to dance with me, would you?" I smirked and lifted my beer to my lips. She sighed and shrugged, knowing that it'd been a long shot.
A guy walked up and touched Inara on the elbow. I eyed him, barely able to keep my protective instincts in check. She turned and hugged him. Clearly she knew him. She turned to me and motioned in the direction of the guy. He wasn't much taller than Inara—lean and yet buff, and the buttons on the shirt he wore were on the verge of popping off. Dark hair that was slicked back and deeply tan skin that already had begun to glisten with sweat, he was handsome, I had to give him that. I instinctively wished that he was gay or something, but chided myself.
"Baby, this is Eric. We generally dance together. Eric, this is my husband Nick."
He reached to shake my hand and smiled perfectly white teeth at me. A new song started, and Eric motioned to the dance floor. Inara nodded and leaned into me, kissing me quickly. "I'll miss you," she said before taking Eric's hand and walking to the dance floor.
Do I wish I was Eric in that moment? Fuck yes I do. His hands landing on the perfectly formed curves of her body, that dress hugging them tightly. Her skirt loosely kissing her thighs as it swished around her as she turned and swayed with the music. She was good. Mesmerizing, and everyone else seemed to know it, casting glances her way, some lingering far longer than I was comfortable with. Of course, why I should feel this way was stupid, but I couldn't help it.
She was sexy, but something about her dancing felt disconnected. Like she had given herself to the music, but not her partner, despite them being in perfect synchronization. Maybe I was imagining it, hoping that was so.
I downed a couple more beers as I watched her. My jealously of Eric quickly faded away—in fact, she was the only one I could see. My chest tightened as my desire for her grew...my jeans also felt a bit tight now. I only envied that I wasn't good enough to join her.
A few, long songs later, she sauntered over to the bar. She was glowing; sweat made some of her auburn hair stick to the back of her neck. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her legs glistened. She was beautiful. Her chest heaved as she panted. "A water and a shot of tequila, John, if you please," she said as the bartender came to her.
