— ”
“No excuses. I promised I’d turn you into a dancer, Damon, and I won’t give up until I succeed. Now, is there an iPod dock or anything we can play music on in this place?”
I stood and walked over to the kitchen to turn on the radio that was built into the wall. “Only this, I’m afraid.”
Some awful hip-hop song came on, and I winced. Frank Sinatra I could deal with. Whatever this was, not so much.
“I can’t dance to this.”
Rose was already up and pulling our chairs into the middle of the room, placing them side by side. “Of course you can. This is Jason Derulo. If you can’t dance to Jason, then you really are a lost cause. Besides, the great thing about Moulin Rouge is that the music is completely anachronistic. Any genre or era will work.”
I watched as she sat on her chair, then patted the seat of the other. “Come on,” she urged me. “Mirror what I do.”
Reluctantly, I did as she asked, watching as she gripped the edge of her chair, then began to move her legs. She pushed up, then swung around so she was sitting on it backwards. The movement caused her top to rise up, revealing an inch of smooth stomach.
I changed my mind. I could definitely dance to this song. More precisely, I could watch Rose dance to this song. I could watch her dance to it forever. She was in complete control of her body, and it was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
“You’re not doing it,” she complained and I blinked, realising I’d been so transfixed that I hadn’t mirrored a single one of her dance moves.
I cleared my throat. “Could we, ah, start over?”
She stared at me for a second and nodded. “Sure, watch my feet. First you slide from side to side, then you take a step with to the right, a step to the left, and push up off the chair with your right hand.”
This time she watched me while she gave instructions. For a moment her eyes seemed to glaze over, her attention wandering to my waist. I briefly wondered if she enjoyed watching me as much I enjoyed watching her.
She clapped then, and I glanced at her. “You’ve got it. Okay, now I want to show you how to step onto the chair and lower the front to the floor before stepping off.”
“Won’t that damage the chairs?”
She shook her head. “Nah…well, probably not. They look like pretty standard Ikea numbers, so if they break, I promise I’ll replace them.”
She held her hand out to me, and we both stepped up onto the chairs at the same time. Letting go, she lifted one foot, placed it on the chair back, then slowly lowered it to the floor while keeping a steady balance. She made it look way too easy. When I attempted to copy her, I wobbled and almost lost my footing. She smiled.
“It’s hard at first, but once you get the hang of it, you can make it look smooth as fuck. This move is especially sexy when men do it.”
At that I smirked. She flushed for speaking for so openly, but Christ, I hoped she found me sexy.
“I mean, like, it usually is, anyway.”
For some reason I felt like teasing her. “Do you think I will?”
Her eyes widened, and she coughed nervously. “Um….”
“Relax, Rose. I’m messing with you.”
She grew flustered. “You’re mean.”
I concentrated on what I was doing, and placed my right foot on the chair back again and thrust forward. The thing went flying, bashing into the floor while I whacked my ankle off the side.
“Fuck,” I swore, hopping away and wincing.
“Oh, crap, are you hurt?” Rose asked, hurrying to my side.
I sat on the floor, holding my ankle as I gritted my teeth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Let me see,” she insisted, and began rolling up the end of my jeans to reveal an ugly red welt. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed and glanced at me. “Do you think we should go to the hospital?”
Now I laughed. “Rose, it’s not even sprained.”
She bit her lip, and my attention was transfixed by the action. “Yeah, but I feel bad. Maybe I should’ve taught you something easier first. I think I got a little carried away with that seductive base line.” She laughed shyly.
Reaching out, I cupped her cheek in my hand. “I’ve been hurt a lot worse. Don’t fret,” I whispered, and her eyes rose to mine. Now she bit