And in we go.
* * *
I’ve been to silent discos before. I’ve laughed in them, pulled ridiculous moves in them, had the odd snog in them. I have never before just adored watching the way someone else moved, be it fully throwing herself into the music, or just swaying, depending on the song.
To be fair, I’ve only been to them in groups with friends, not with just one woman, and I doubt I’ve been to one sober. And I haven’t been to one recently. But even given all of that, this is different.
We’re definitely listening to the same channel and dancing to the same things at the same time. Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake it Off’ has just finished and now we’re listening to Dua Lipa. And I can’t take my eyes off Nadia.
It’s weird. We’re several feet apart. We came in together and we’re dancing near each other but we’re certainly not dancing together. But…
I’m watching every move Nadia makes and she’s looking at me too. As she leans one way, I lean the same way. Until she leans one way and I lean the other and then we’re asymmetrically mirroring each other and everything that she does I copy. Her body is… I mean, yes, it’s… well, I don’t even want to allow myself to think the thoughts I’m thinking. She’s basically bloody gorgeous and frankly, wearing that dress, which is not in itself anywhere near as risqué as some of the dresses that are being worn tonight, it’s no wonder she’s getting lecherous glances from far too many people.
On that thought, I move a little closer, still watching her the whole time.
There’s something very…physical… about dancing with someone, mirroring their movements, but looking into their eyes the entire time. Like you have this connection with them because you’re only seeing their body in your peripheral vision,sensingit but very in tune with it.
And then suddenly the music switches several decades back to a Bryan Adams ballad, and without thinking, I stretch my right hand out to take Nadia’s and give her a twirl under my arm, and then I don’t release her hand, but give it a little tug, and she comes right in against me, and I slide my left around her waist, and we begin to sway together.
It is, hands down, the most erotic dance of my life. We’re still looking into each other’s eyes, and justfeelingeverything else that we do. And when I say feeling… I can feel her everywhere we touch, the slight warmth of her hand inside mine, the curve of her waist, the softness of her body against mine.
When it finishes and an Avicii song starts, I don’t want to move apart, but also, yep, we should, because whatwasthat?
I need a drink, I decide.
When I motion towards the door, Nadia nods, and walks out ahead of me.
We bump straight into Carole.
‘You have no drinks,’ she accuses us. ‘Hang on.’
Before we can say no thank you to more cocktails, she’s pressing bright red drinks on us.
We take sips at the same time.
‘Blimey,’ Nadia says when her eyes have stopped watering.
‘Exactly,’ I say, still blinking.
‘I knew you’d like them,’ Carole says fondly. ‘What have you been doing? I heard that a beautiful woman with amazing hair and a lovely green dress did very well at both roulette and poker. That can only have been you, Nadia? Drink up.’
We both sip and Nadia says, ‘That’s a very over-flattering description so maybe someone else did well,butI would say that I was on fire in there.’
Carole and I both laugh, and then Carole says, ‘Maybe you’ll be in with a shot at the prize. In the meantime, have you seen the fortune teller?’
‘Oh, no, I don’t think…’ Nadia says, while I shake my head (I’ve just taken another gulp of the red drink under Carole’s forceful gaze and have temporarily lost the use of my vocal cords).
‘You have to go. She’s very good and always right but also, the beauty of it is, youcantell yourselves it’s all utter nonsense and then ignore her. I insist. But finish your drinks first.’
The drinks are big, but Carole is fierce, and I find myself meekly downing mine, and Nadia does the same with hers.
When we’ve both finished coughing, Carole pulls us along the corridor and round the corner behind the stairs to a small room, which has very low lighting. Sitting at a table is a woman dressed very stereotypically in a black dress with a fringed shawl round her shoulders and a kind of head-dress thing.
‘Enjoy.’ Carole basically shoves us towards the table and closes the door behind us.
‘You do not look very happy,’ the woman observes.
‘Ha,’ I say.
