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She flinches and stares up at me accusingly, as though I’ve already offended her.
“No… I just mean that I would have thought you were already done climbing the ladder, climbing a new ladder, bursting through glass ceilings and everything. I mean…”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she cuts me off. “Honestly, I would’ve thought that too. But I guess I didn’t always climb the ladder when it could’ve been climbed, or I didn’t always know I was on a ladder, or sometimes I was climbing down by mistake. You know how it is.”
I nod sagely, though I don’t really know. But I can imagine. A woman that looks like her in construction has to be pretty handicapped right from the word go. This kind of beauty must be terrifying. Funny how I actually lived with it for years, not even realizing how extraordinary it was.
“But now, maybe it’s time,” she muses distractedly. “Maybe I will get my own ladder or something. Or maybe I will try out a new metaphor. Say… Do you want to dance?”
“Dance?” I repeat, stunned. “Like, seriously, dance? Out there?”
She shrugs, setting her wine back on the bar and placing a small beaded handbag on the table. She looks me over, that same incisive gaze, those shameless almond eyes.
“We never danced before, did we?” she smiles. “It’s better than small talk. You have to admit that, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, and offer her my hand.
She slips her palm against mine, her fingers brushing my fingers. It’s the strangest sensation. It’s absolutely electric. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to dance with her without looking like a horny fool, but hell if I’m not going to give it a shot.
There are already a few couples on the parquet floor, swaying together and laughing as though dancing is jus
t the most foreign, silly thing ever. But when she pivots around me and places her hand on my shoulder, tipping her head shyly to one side, it feels… I don’t know. Not silly. Not at all.
It’s easy. We spend a long time on the dance floor, though I see Ron out of the corner of my eye, dancing with his elbows at the edge of the stage. I know he would like to cut in, or at least try to get me up there for a drunken attempt at getting the band back together.
The songs go by so quickly as Penny moves in my arms. My mind is a rush of white noise where I’m trying not to think anything in particular. Certainly not thinking about her curves sweeping back and forth across my body, setting me on fire.
Far too early, she pulls back at the end of a song, clapping politely. Then she turns to me with an apologetic shrug and I know what she’s going to say.
“I have a really early morning tomorrow,” she explains, wrinkling her nose. Somehow, she doesn’t seem to have freckles anymore.
“It was fantastic to see you,” I smile.
“You too,” she breathes, her mouth open slightly, her face expectant and unprotected. It’s as though there are no veils between us. No barriers. I could just lean down and…
“Hope to see you again sometime,” she chirps as she leans away, sashaying off the dance floor.
For a moment I feel like following her, before relief sets in. I feel like I missed a close call there. I feel like I almost capsized. She almost swept my legs out.
“Jesus, what did you say to her?” Ron huffs, appearing by my side.
“She had to go,” I explain.
“Yeah, you said something,” he persists accusingly. “You always say something, Clay. Way to go, Mr. Commitment.”
She turns back to glance at me just before she leaves the ballroom, waving with her fingertips. I feel an almost magnetic urge to follow her, but I don’t.
Chapter 10
Penny
Wanda picks up the phone on the first ring, even though it’s only seven thirty in the morning.
“Penny? What’s up? How was it? Are you okay? Are you alone? Are you in jail? Do you need bail? I’m on my way!”
“Whoa, wait, stop,” I laugh. “Jeez. None of that. Did I wake you?”
“Wake me?” she repeats, as though the idea is preposterous. “Of course you didn’t wake me. I am making French toast for the little monster.”
