AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He managed to peel her off and walked over to me.
“Music problem?” he asked.
“Bloody CD player doesn’t work. And I can’t play the music loud enough on my phone.”
Harry pushed some buttons on the player. “Got a playlist?”
“No, I’m relying on the internet,” I groaned. “And the Internet Gods are not playing well tonight.”
“I’d love to hear some disco!” Beryl bellowed.
Harry chuckled. “I can deliver.”
He selected an app on his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked as a 1970s disco track started to play through the CD player. “How did you …?”
“Bluetooth and my playlist.”
“My phone’s so old I don’t think it has Bluetooth,” I sighed. “Maybe I’ll just find a waltz …”
I reached for his phone but Harry held it out of reach.
“Check out your class. They’re loving it,” he murmured.
The aged care residents were paired off and gyrating as well as their joints allowed them.
“I haven’t danced to this song since visiting the clubs in Sydney after 'Nam.”
I raised an eyebrow at Caz and turned back to Harry.
“You can’t waltz to this.”
“Pfft, you can waltz to anything if you want to.”
“That’s not a thing.”
He held out his hand. “It’s a thing.”
“You dance?”
“Yep, my footy club made the team learn how to waltz every year for our annual awards night. They wanted to make us gentlemen on the dance floor even if we were thugs on the field.”
I hesitated but the class cheered for me to dance with Harry. I shook my head and laughed, then took his hand.
“Okay. Lead on, doc.”
Harry led me in a basic waltz to the disco track and surprisingly, it worked. He spun me a couple of times, and the group applauded. The next song was more seventies rock than disco. Harry spun me again, and curled me into him, my back against the front of his body with his arm across me.
We swayed idly to the beat, watching the group do their best moves. Caz shimmied in front of Arthur who appreciated how she jiggled all over. Granny Lynn was imitating John Travolta fromSaturday Night Fever, all thrusting hips and finger pointing, along with a couple of others.
And Beryl was twerking.
“Once you’ve seen an octogenarian twerk,” Harry whispered in my ear, “you cannot unsee.”
I laughed, swaying my hips, caught up in the music. Several minutes passed and then Harry trailed his fingers down my arms, his hands coming to rest on my hips. He moved in time with me, his fingers gripping my hips ever so slightly, guiding me where he wanted us to go.
I followed his movements getting lost in the song and sinking my fingers into my hair, shaking it out of my messy bun. Harry gripped me tighter.
