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“Your boyfriend?”
“Yes. You know, that person who doesn’t treat you like shit just because he likes you and you like him back? Interesting concept, isn’t it?”
I didn’t get a chance to respond to that.
The orchestra struck a sudden loud chord that reverberated through the room, and a voice came over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” it said. “The Benjamin Wright Orchestra will now play their rendition of one of Tchaikovsky’s most revered pieces. The tempo of this song has a similar pacing for what some of you may know as the waltz. Please join us on the floor for this classic homage…”
I grabbed her hand and entwined it with mine, securing my free hand around her waist.
“What are you doing?” She hissed and tried to pull away. “I’m not dancing with you.”
I tightened my grip around her. “Yes you are.”
“Please don’t make me scream, Andrew…”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t love to hear that?”
She tried to move away from me, but I held her still.
“Five minutes,” I said.
“Three,” she countered.
“Fine.” I loosened my grip and swayed her to the music. “Are you aware that your boyfriend is a male ballerina?”
“The correct term,” she said, rolling her eyes, “is a danseur.”
“He’s a f**king ballerina…” I dipped her to the floor. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past few months?”
“Living out my dream free from a certain ass**le?”
“I expect more from you if you’re going to date someone else.”
“I don’t give a damn what you expect.” She hissed. “He’s everything you’ll never be…”
“Because he kisses you in public?”
“It’s more than that…But that’s on the never-ending list of things he has on you.”
“Does he make you cum?”
“He doesn’t make me cry.”
Silence.
I felt her pulling away from me, but I held her still. “Are you f**king him?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I just want to know.”
“We haven’t had a conversation in months and you think you’re entitled to know who I’m sleeping with?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily use the term entitled.”
