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“Yes?” she said.
“I’d thought about asking you out for a while, even though I hardly knew you. I’m glad I finally did. Even if we are out just as friends.” I placed air quotes around friends.
She looked down at her salmon. Did I piss her off or embarrass her?
“Thank you,” she said, looking back up at me. “You’re right. This isn’t a date. But tonight, swing dancing—that could be a date. If you like.”
Booyah.
That sly little smile was back on her face, the perfect contrast to those innocent-looking freckles. I had a feeling this chick had a wild side. And I was going to meet that side of her sooner rather than later.
Like tonight.
Chapter 13
JAYMA
Well, I had to give Tanner credit for persistence. The truth was, I wanted to go out with him just as much (I think) as he wanted to go out with me. I’d been holding out thanks to the stupid old rule, don’t shit where you eat. But fuck it. I was a big girl, and if I wanted to see someone from work, then I would. I’d deal with the consequences later.
Plus, his nerdy glasses just about killed me.
I was a little tormented, I had to admit, about hanging out with him when I’d been with Carter just the night before. I was turning into quite the loose woman, but…to hell with it. I’d been a good girl all my life and look where that had gotten me. It was time to change things up.
And one of those changes could include becoming homeless.
Back at the office, I thanked Tanner—although I really would have liked to kiss or at least hug him—but I did need to be discreet in front of the intern at the front desk.
After work, Tanner and I grabbed an Uber across town to get to our swing dance
class. I had to say, I thought it was pretty hilarious he suggested we go. I mean, who would think a hunky guy like him wanted to learn an old-fashioned dance? But hey, I was game. I’d always wanted to try swing.
We arrived at Metronome, a converted warehouse in San Francisco’s Potrero Hill neighborhood. It looked like nothing from the outside, but once we were in, I realized it was set up like an old-school dance hall complete with glittery ball hanging from the ceiling.
“Hello!” a voice called from clear across the room. A little blonde woman in T-strap heels hustled over to us in a whoosh of blonde pin curls and swirling skirts.
“Hi, I’m Mel. Are you here for the swing class?” She looked so hopeful. If we hadn’t been there for her class, I would have lied and said yes, anyway.
“Yes. We’re told you’re the master. Teach us what you will,” Tanner said.
Her face lit up. “Follow me!” she said with pure glee.
She lined us up facing her and proceeded to show the class of about five couples the beginning steps of swing.
“Triple step, triple step, rock,” she chanted over and over. She said rock more like rrroooock to give us an extra beat to do some step back leaning thing. Seemed easy enough.
She turned the music on, playing this cool 1930’s or 40’s tune called String of Pearls. It had a great beat, and I was totally getting into it, dancing in place. Then she told us to grab our partners. Time for the real thing.
Only Tanner wasn’t quite ready for the real thing. I’d been so focused on learning my own steps, I’d not paid attention to him, even though he was right next to me.
Mel snapped her fingers and called, “Four, three, two, aaand triple step…”
I took a step forward, as I was supposed to. Tanner also took a step forward, causing us to crash into each other. See, he was supposed to step back. My foot ended up under his, where it was promptly stomped on.
Goddamn, that hurt.
“Try again, over there,” Mel called cheerfully. Everyone else in the class turned to see what was so bad that she had to holler instructions at us.
“Sorry,” Tanner said. “Let’s start over.”
